


Another Chance (Death and Fate's Blessings)

by misty7books



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Basically all characters in canon, F/F, F/M, Good Draco Malfoy, Good-ish Quirinus Quirrell, Harry and Ginny time travel, I can't be bothered to name them all whoops, I love harry so much he is my favourite character, I'm not putting much so it doesn't spoilt it, M/M, but just know that i am terrible with angst so there will probably not be much angst, how do you title, i don't know how to tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25867456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misty7books/pseuds/misty7books
Summary: "If he hadn’t misunderstood, Death would allow him to travel back in time. To his First Year, or maybe the deaths of his parents perhaps. Something that he thought was impossible. Apparently, it was because he and Fate screwed Harry over so badly that they felt sorry for him, from what he could tell, but he wasn’t about to complain. And what, in return, he had to ‘fix’ Tom? As in, kill him again? Or…"-Death sends Harry and Ginny back to the beginning, with the single condition that the horcruxes are dealt with. Whether that be through destruction or restoration, it is up to only Harry. Can his hero complex stretch to include Voldemort? HP/TR GW/LL Time travel
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 75
Kudos: 230





	1. Gotta Get Back to Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

> 1 – I, surprise surprise, do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters, nor am I making any money by writing this, just hand pain.
> 
> 2 – There will be no smut, since I genuinely don’t know how to write it and also my mom reads my stuff sometimes, and that would just be a bad situation for me, no need to torture myself.
> 
> 3 – It is rated T for swearing. If you think I should change the rating, please inform me, since I’m terrible at rating things.
> 
> 4 – The only pairings that are 100% certain are Tomarry and… what’s Ginny and Luna’s ship name? Guna? Linny? Anyways, if you want a certain pairing outside of those, do tell me so I can plan for it, please.
> 
> 5 – If you have any plot points or story ideas or just any thoughts on how the fic will progress, do tell me! I only have until halfway through 1st Year written, and up to the end of 4th Year very vaguely planned. So please, tell me all of your ideas! 
> 
> 6 – Dumbledore bashing, yay or nay? I like a mixture, as he is a very complex man, but I like hearing others’ opinions.
> 
> 7 – Constructive criticism is welcome. :)
> 
> Love you all <3
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 1: Gotta Get Back to Hogwarts** (3607 words)

**_12th June 1998 – The Burrow_ **

The days following the Battle of Hogwarts had felt both unbearably long and worryingly short for Harry.

Objectively speaking, he _knew_ that the war could have gone much worse than it did. He knew that, he did, alright? But it was incredibly difficult to admit that to himself when he was surrounded with the knowledge that so many people he cared about died. Remus, Tonks, Fred. Maybe he could even put Snape on that list, knowing what he had done to save Harry’s life.

One of the worst deaths, in Harry’s opinion, was Luna’s since it made Ginny near hysterical.

Luna had always been like a breath of air to Harry, entirely uncaring of the opinions of others, confident to be herself. It was refreshing to talk to her, as she could always see things from another perspective and she would say the most interesting things.

Harry’s heart was big, as was his devastation.

Every single death had felt like a blow to the back, but Luna’s especially. Luna’s seemed to absolutely destroy Ginny.

Harry was like a dragon, and the few he cared about that were still alive were his hoard that he would endlessly defend. Ginny included.

He and Ginny had spent many, many days merely sitting side by side on the living room couch, not saying a word but comforted all the same. Sometimes, just being the presence of each other, of someone who _understood_ , made all the difference. When he sat with Ron and Hermione, they would always talk to try and take his mind off of his thoughts, but Harry could barely focus on what they were saying.

They were even already talking about returning to Hogwarts, or if it wasn’t ready to open by September, looking for potential jobs, masteries, or training. Hermione often asked him what he wanted to do in the future. Harry wondered if this was just her way of trying to get him to stop thinking of the past but whatever it was, it certainly didn’t stop Harry from being swallowed up by his memories.

How couldn’t they see that he could barely think of the future in the state he was in?

Did he even have a future?

The moment he had seen those memories that Snape had given to him on his deathbed, Harry understood, finally, _everything_. It was like the final puzzle piece to the mess that was his life. He had been raised to die, his entire purpose in life was to make Voldemort mortal and that included dying. He couldn’t even do that right!

What could he even _do_ now that Voldemort was gone? Was he… even good at anything?

Hermione would often blabber on about her interest in applying for a Transfiguration Mastery. If he were to study for a mastery, Harry supposed that it would be one about defence, right? But, was that truly what he wanted to do for the rest of his life? Fight dark wizards? Hadn’t he devoted his entire life to that? Wasn’t he tired of it by now?

He could barely think of applying for a Defence Mastery or graduating from Hogwarts anyways, not while he was in the middle of his very painful memories. They had swallowed him up, and he had let them. It hurt to remember his memories of Sirius, of Fred, of Remus and Tonks and of Fred and George – because they should never be separated – and of Snape, even if they were bittersweet, and of Luna. But it would hurt more to forget, he knew, so he didn’t let himself forget.

Ginny understood. She had always understood.

Ever since his Second Year, she and Harry had shared a kinship. They were the only ones out of their group of friends to have ever gotten close to Voldemort, to Tom Riddle. They understood him well, better than almost anyone, and the others just couldn’t understand it. To everyone else, he was the bogeyman, the monster under the bed, the evil villain in the fairy-tale that ended with his death and a grand celebration and a happily ever after. To Harry and Ginny, Tom Riddle was, well, quite simply _brilliant_. They understood easily how he became the great Dark Lord Voldemort. They had related to him, they had spoken to him, they had gotten to know him, and they had felt terrible as they learnt more about his fall from grace to the being that was Voldemort.

Harry thought that he had loved Ginny, and he _did_ but it wasn’t romantic. She had made the same mistake. They merely understood each other better than the others. They appreciated the other’s company on the days after the Battle of Hogwarts, but it wasn’t easy. Not around everyone else.

In the death of Voldemort, the others took comfort. The others celebrated.

Harry and Ginny?

They _mourned_.

Harry sighed as he dragged himself into the kitchen, seeing no one there. It was much too early for Mrs Weasley to be up making breakfast, so it was just him there. It was much too early for anyone to be up, to be honest. That was just the way he wanted it though. No one to see the bags under his eyes and the tear tracks down his face.

Grabbing any random mug, Harry made himself some tea and sat down at the kitchen table.

He didn’t drink any of it though.

He looked into the mug and _thought_.

He thought about George, who holed himself up at the shop and who refuses visitors, who Harry and Ginny understood more than anyone else because the three of them had lost a part of themselves, the three of them had no purpose, no reason to carry on, no point in _living_.

He thought about Ron and Hermione, badly affected by the war but not quite understanding Harry or George or Ginny, being content with how it ended and looking to the future, either auror training or getting a job at the Ministry or looking to finish their education once Hogwarts was rebuilt. Harry wondered if they even realised that he could barely look at himself in the mirror nowadays, never mind think of what to do in the future.

He thought about Ginny, probably awake from nightmares a few floors above him, Luna’s name on her tongue as she realises that she’s safe in her room – _and Luna wasn’t there and never would be_.

Harry only noticed the oppressive force in the room when the mug he was staring at began to frost over, so lost in his thoughts was he.

It felt like the overwhelming pressure of the presence of a dementor, except his positive emotions, little though they shined, weren’t being sucked out of him.

He turned his head to see where it was coming from and he suddenly found himself face to face with what _looked_ like a dementor, except it was much larger, much darker, and he could see two glowing eyes, bright white, from under its hood.

Harry pulled his holly wand out of his pocket and pointed it directly at the heart of the dementor, _Expecto Patronum_ on the tip of his tongue, when the being spoke.

“Harry… Potter…” it rasped.

Harry froze. The voice, while low and quiet, held so much power that he could barely move. “Yes?” he managed to get out of his trembling lips. The frost in the room was growing ever colder and a puff of white left his mouth as he spoke.

“Do… you know… who I am?”

Harry closed his eyes, and thought some more.

Instead of his memories or his friends, his thoughts found themselves working for the first time in over a month. Without his permission, they turned to what he remembered of the Deathly Hallows. He had been in possession of one since his father’s death, technically, as the Invisibility Cloak passed from parent to child. He had owned the Resurrection Stone since Dumbledore’s death, as it had been in the snitch left for him in the will. And he had been the master of the Elder Wand since he had disarmed Malfoy all those months ago.

Harry’s eyes fluttered open.

He had a pretty good guess.

“D-Death?”

The eyes glowed brighter, Harry guessed in satisfaction. “Correct, Master.” Harry released a breath as the cold that had enveloped the room lessened slightly, enough so that he could properly breathe.

“Why are you here?”

Death said nothing for a moment. It stared at Harry, unnaturally still. “I admit… Master, Fate and I… we have not been kind to you.” Harry snorted. Understatement of the year. “I believe… yes, I think it wouldn’t be remiss to give the chance to…”

“The chance to what?” Harry asked from where Death had drifted off. It seemed reluctant to continue whatever it was going to say.

“Another chance.”

Death stared at him harshly. Harry felt a shiver run up his spine.

“A chance to do things again… to live your life and pick different options… to stop the terrible regret and guilt tearing through you. Fix the terrible blight that defied me, Tom Marvolo Riddle, earlier than you did in this life, in return… and you can try again.”

Harry’s breath caught. His eyes widened.

If he hadn’t misunderstood, Death would allow him to _travel back in time_. To his First Year, or maybe the deaths of his parents perhaps. Something that he thought was impossible. Apparently, it was because he and Fate screwed Harry over so badly that they felt sorry for him, from what he could tell, but he wasn’t about to complain. And what, in return, he had to ‘fix’ Tom? As in, kill him again? Or…

“Is there a way to reunite the horcruxes?” he asked breathlessly, hope filling his heart and making his chest ache.

Harry jumped in surprise at the hiss that Death gave when he mentioned the evil objects. “Yes, Master, there is a way… but, I will not tell you what it is. Fate forbid me.” He stood there, contemplating Harry for a moment. “Do we have a deal?”

“Will I remain your Master in the past?”

“Of course… you alone were always fated to have been the Master of Death since the creation of my objects, even before you united the Hallows under one. You have _always_ been the Master of Death.”

“Oh,” Harry muttered. Fate seemed rather overwhelming. He had never believed in destiny (which made his and Tom’s prophecy all the more ironic).

He regretting not drinking his tea now.

“Do we have a deal?” Death repeated. Harry sat silently for a while, weighing the pros and cons. Normally, he would instantly dismiss the deal, knowing that things could have ended up way worse and that he should let go of the past and move on. That’s what Hermione would say, and Hermione was always right. However, he was still reeling from the losses of the final battle, and his mind was caught on the images of Ginny crying into his shoulder about Luna’s death, and the Tom Riddle he had seen in the Chamber of Secrets in his Second Year.

Death had said that there was a way to reunite the horcruxes and restore Tom’s soul, Harry reminded himself, reluctant hope spreading through him. Could he do it? Maybe… maybe that could be his new purpose. He didn’t know how to live outside of Tom. He and Tom Riddle had been tied together since even before his birth: their wands were brothers, they shared a mind link, their childhoods were similar, and Harry could see, intensely and vividly, how _easily_ he could have become another Tom Riddle.

But he didn’t.

He had made friends. Ron and Hermione, Neville and Luna and Ginny and the twins. He learnt love. He learnt how a normal family acted. Instead of continuing down a path of cold apathy and cruel power, he treasured his friends.

By restoring Tom’s sanity… could he prevent the second war before it even began? Could he save Tom Riddle?

It was then that he realised that it wouldn’t just be Tom he was saving. _Sirius was still alive back then. And Cedric too, and Fred. He could have them back. All of them. Remus, and Tonks, and Luna_ -

Luna.

Harry’s snapped up to look at Death, desperate and excited all of a sudden, his heart thumping in his chest, “Can I bring someone with me?”

The temperature lowered, presumably in displeasure. “I would say no to anyone you’d suggest, Master-”

“Even Ginny?” Harry insisted. He had a hunch that she would be the one exception to Death. “She had been so badly affected by a horcrux and she knows Tom a lot like I do. She could help me with your task. She deserves to come with me! And I don’t think I’d be able to do all of this alone.”

Death said nothing and Harry let him ponder for a long time. Long enough for Harry to notice that the sunrise was upon them, rays filtering through the windows and blinding him. The light seemed to be sucked up by Death’s dark and oppressive force around him. Eventually, by the time Harry heard movement upstairs, Death nodded. “Fate agrees… your friend has been dealt a bad hand,” Death admitted. “She, and only she, can go with you to the past.”

Harry heard steps going down the stairs, and rushed, “Let me talk to Ginny first – please – I won’t just drag her along without telling her! Will this offer still be available later?”

“Yes.” Death began to fade away. “I will return when you ask, Master.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Death disappeared, and the cold and dark magic around him left as well. He looked down into his mug to see his tea still frozen solid. Shame. The door to the kitchen opened to reveal a concerned but amused Mrs Weasley.

“Harry, dear, why is there frost on the floor?”

_**14th June 1998 – Number 12 Grimmauld Place** _

Harry and Ginny stood shoulder to shoulder in the dark and dusty kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Kreacher had died at the Battle of Hogwarts, and the already rather dilapidated house was gloomier than Harry had ever seen it before.

It seemed to fit the mood perfectly for what they were about to do.

Only two days had passed since the offer of another chance was presented to Harry by Death. He had rushed to tell Ginny about it on the same day, looking more alive than he had for over a month, since Tom Riddle’s death. He had been wasting away, much to everyone’s concern.

On that same day that they sat, considering whether to go or not, they had eaten lunch in the kitchen for once (they often ate in their rooms, or in Harry’s case, didn’t eat at all).

Ron and Hermione were chatting about the Ministry of Magic and how it was slowly being rebuilt to ensure that everything was safe and everyone would be able to continue on like normal. Would normal ever be reached? Did normal even exist anymore? Harry wasn’t sure. But the memory of what had happened earlier that morning seemed to reach deep inside of him and bring to light that which had made him so catatonic-like. He had a reason now, to eat and to talk and to continue moving. Though not quite moving forward, it was a start.

Even Ron and Hermione had noticed the new light in his eyes, the life in his steps.

Ginny acted much the same way he was, now that there was a light at the end of the tunnel and a chance to see Luna again.

Ron made a dirty joke because of it which made Hermione whack him on the arm though she appeared to be amused. Harry let them joke, warmed by the memories of their time together, since it would not matter for much longer. Ginny only laughed.

Ginny had asked him, yesterday, if they could visit Luna’s grave before they left this time forever. Harry had nodded, unable to speak when faced with the emotion in Ginny’s eyes. He had never been a selfish or self-centred person (other than when there was a literal prophecy about his and Voldemort’s death, but could he be blamed for that?) yet it still surprised him sometimes to see that other people felt a grief as deep as his.

Instead of apparating directly, they had walked there. It was a beautiful day with clear blue skies, a rarity, but they couldn’t seem to enjoy it.

A burial had been made by Luna’s father outside of their house, and it suited her well. There were butterbeer bottlecap necklaces, radishes, little potion bottles and books that she must have adored. Harry felt a ward around the grave that was to protect all of this from weather, wild animals, and vandalism. Dotted around the grave stood little wooden figures that Harry didn’t recognise at all, though Ginny pointed a few out, mumbling under her breath with tears in her eyes the names of the creatures only Luna could see.

They would be leaving all of this behind, he knew. The Ron and Hermione he’d be reunited with would not be the same people he had now, they wouldn’t have experienced the things they did, they wouldn’t be _his_.

But he _had_ to do this.

What life did he have outside of Tom Riddle? A hollow feeling within him had been present ever since he had died – no, ever since he had lost the horcrux he had carried from the age of one. By going back, he would feel whole once more. Ginny would have Luna again, too, which was one of the main reasons he had wanted her to come with him. The Ginny he had now was precious to him, and her experiences with the diary would also prove useful when dealing with all of the horcruxes at once.

Also… his friends had always teased him about his ‘saving people’ thing. He hated to admit it, but he did have this hero complex of always feeling the need to save people.

Perhaps they would call him a monster for having it extend as far as Voldemort, but that didn’t change the fact that it was true.

He felt a desperate need to _heal_ Tom, to show him the love and care he had been missing all of his life, to show to the world that _this_ was the brilliant, brilliant man that they had left for dead as a child in an orphanage. He felt it from the moment he fell into Dumbledore’s pensieve and saw a scared little boy, desperate to fit in and when that didn’t work, stand out. Where Dumbledore saw a dangerous future threat, Harry only related heavily, being reminded of his life with his relatives.

Voldemort had almost destroyed their world successfully. What would a fully sane and powerful Tom Riddle be able to do?

Harry had many questions he wanted answered, and he found himself curious for the first time about the future.

However, the future he was excited about was the one he would make for himself, not this one handed to him by Dumbledore’s manipulations. He felt no ill-will against the man, but he couldn’t deny the fact that Dumbledore had kept the fact that he would have to die a secret. He had kept a lot of things secret. But that wouldn’t matter because in the past, he would have the advantage and the knowledge.

He had to admit that pulling one over Dumbledore was very attractive to him at that moment.

And so, finally, there they stood.

They had with them only the clothes on their back. They wouldn’t be able to bring anything with them except for their memories and their souls (since magic was partially tied to the soul, their magical power would be seen as ‘above average’ when they went back in time).

Harry licked his dry lips, and croaked, “Death?”

The change in the room at its presence was immediate. Most of the light in the room was sucked away, and Harry felt a terrible chill that seemed to reach all the way into his bones. Ginny’s full body shiver next to him told him that she felt it too.

“Master,” it rasped, its voice grating. “You have considered the deal?”

“I have,” Harry said. “Ginny and I agree with the terms. We put back together Tom’s soul and in return, we have another chance at living.”

“There is no future for you here,” Death agreed.

It slowly raised an arm, revealing under draping, black robes, a trembling skeletal hand.

With one downward swipe of it, Harry felt like he had touched a portkey, except instead of being dragged away through just space, it had the added bonus of going through both time and space. Harry absently thought that Hermione would think this an incredible opportunity. They were spinning, he could see day and night pass though how he could when his eyes were tightly and firmly shut, he didn’t know. At some point, he and Ginny had let go of each other and he was all alone. His stomach felt like it was about to tear itself to shreds, so nauseous was he, but it worked, it worked, he felt himself shrink, his scars fade, his body went lax as he fell unconscious.

And at midnight on September 1st, 1991, an eleven-year-old Harry Potter woke up in Dudley’s Second Bedroom.


	2. First Glimpses of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we are in the past! Full of Harry making half-arsed plans, going to Hogwarts, and the Sorting.  
> Enjoy!

** Chapter 2: First Glimpses of the Past ** (5228 words)

**_1 st September 1991 – Number 4 Privet Drive_ **

Before Harry’s eyes even snapped open, he could tell that he was in the past.

His body felt too small, he was starving for some food, his much littler toes wiggled as he reacquainted himself with his younger body.

The biggest point on his mental checklist was to check the unusual warmth resting behind his scar. Was this the horcrux, Harry wondered, that he could now sense? Having it since the age of one meant that he couldn’t tell it wasn’t normal, most likely. And having lost it in the future, he could now tell that it was there, nestled safely within his head, within his _soul_. If he were to reunite the horcruxes and restore Tom’s soul, he would need to keep the horcrux within him safe – something he would do gladly. He had felt so incredibly empty when it had left him, and Harry was delighted to have it back. He wondered what he would do when it was time to give it up to restore Tom but that was in the distant future and he would worry about it later.

Harry slowly lifted himself up into a sitting position on his bed and looked around. He was obviously in Dudley’s Second Bedroom (it was not, and never would be, _his_ room).

Thinking on it, he didn’t remember ever having a room just for himself. That wasn’t a very important issue, though he made a mental note to get one when his future living arrangements had been settled.

Harry quietly rose out of his bed with practiced ease, slightly in awe of his itty bitty body. He had never been very big, even at 17, but he had forgotten just how tiny he was. Merlin, the twins hadn’t been joking when they called him a midget, had they?

Pushing the thought of his mind, Harry checked the date and the time with a wave of his hand (he and Hermione had practiced simple wandless magic on the run during that time that Ron left) and saw that it was midnight on the day he’d be going to Hogwarts. He turned to Hedwig, making sure to give her a few pats on the head as he had missed his first ever friend very much, and he told her to fly to Hogwarts early.

Harry unlocked the door to Dudley’s Second Bedroom with a wandless alohomora, doing the same with his cupboard downstairs.

He shrunk his school trunk and put it in his pocket and he held his wand close to his chest for a moment, warmth swelling through him the second he picked it up.

Thinking for a moment, Harry made a quick plan (and yes, he knew his plans never worked but he was supposed to be smarter this time around, right?) of getting Sirius free by next Summer. If it worked, Harry would live with him, but if it didn’t Harry just would move into Grimmauld Place with Kreacher anyways.

No way in hell would he be returning to this house. Blood wards be damned.

He pulled out some parchment, a quill, and an ink pot from his trunk and quickly wrote a note to his relatives that he had left that night so they wouldn’t have to take him to King’s Cross, and that he wouldn’t return in the Summer so this was a sweet farewell. He placed it on the kitchen table and left the house.

A weight seemed to lift off of his shoulders as Harry stepped out of Number 4 Privet Drive.

Perhaps it was the wards fading away as he walked away from the house with the intention of never returning.

Harry had hundreds of half-formed and idiotic plans circling in his head as he walked a few streets away. It hadn’t quite kicked in that this was all real. What could he possibly do? He had many, many possibilities and courses of action available to him. He could write a letter to Ginny (unwise seeing as they weren’t supposed to know each other yet), he could capture Wormtail the moment he got to Hogwarts (and do what with him? Force him to reveal himself in front of an auror? Could he even hire a lawyer at age 11?), he could go to the Gaunt Shack and get the horcrux and the Resurrection Stone immediately (if _Dumbledore_ fell for its curses, Harry _really_ did not want to give it a go).

Ah, the horcruxes. Yes, if Harry was going to restore Tom’s soul, he needed to collect all of the horcruxes.

Harry bought a muggle notebook and pen from a corner store that was still open late at night with money he had taken from Aunt Petunia’s purse. He sat on the pavement, tapping his lip with the pen in thought. He wrote in the first page, by the glow of a nearby streetlight:

_ Tom’s Horcruxes: _

_Diary – In Malfoy Manor. Ginny will have it by next Summer._

_Ring – In the Gaunt Shack, difficult to reach with a lethal curse._

_Locket – In Grimmauld Place. Call for Kreacher? Wait until Sirius is free?_

_Cup – In Lestrange Vault. Literally impossible to get, I’m not trying again._

_Diadem – In Hogwarts. Easily accessible once I’m there._

_Me – Free of charge._

_Nagini – Not even a horcrux yet and hopefully never._

Looking at the list he had written, Harry decided that the locket would be the easiest to reach if calling Kreacher worked. He wasn’t sure if it would be, seeing as he wasn’t the elf’s master yet, but Harry assumed that being Sirius’ godson gave him some leeway in this situation. If it didn’t work, he’d wait until Summer when he’d be going to Grimmauld Place whether Sirius was free or not to get the locket.

Harry walked into some side alley and called out Kreacher’s name.

Pop! “How dare half-blood scum call, Kreacher? Filthy mudblood is Kreacher’s Master? Kreacher thought blood traitor Master was Kreacher’s Master,” the old elf immediately began muttering. Harry, by far used to it already, ignored it with ease.

“Hello, Kreacher,” Harry said, trying to be nice. “Sirius is still your master, yes. I’m his godson. Harry Potter. I called you because your Master Regulus gave you a mission before he died, didn’t he?”

Kreacher, like Harry expected, began sobbing at his feet at the mention of Regulus. “Wonderful Master Regulus gave Kreacher his locket! Master Regulus’ locket! He ordered Kreacher to destroy it but Kreacher failed! Kreacher failed Master!”

Harry cut in before Kreacher could continue on with his sobbing ramblings. “Right, Kreacher, if you give me the locket, I’ll deal with it.”

Kreacher looked up at him. The judgemental sneer on his face was almost gone as he looked at Harry with both wonder and suspicion. “You’ll destroy Master Regulus’ locket?”

Damn.

Should he lie and say that he would destroy the locket so Kreacher would listen to him, or should he tell Kreacher the truth and that he wanted to take away the _reason_ Regulus wanted it destroyed? While Harry felt awful for lying, it was the easiest option in that moment, and Harry felt very, very eager to nab a horcrux as soon as possible. He felt a desperate burning in his soul to do anything to get the horcrux.

“Yes, Kreacher,” Harry said. He technically _would_ be ‘destroying’ a horcrux. It would no longer _be_ a horcrux once he was finished with his task, so he technically wasn’t lying. Kreacher nodded rapidly, popped away, and in a few seconds, he returned with the locket in his hand.

The moment Harry felt its magic from across the side alley, a deep and soothing warmth settled in him.

On their little ‘camping trip’, he, Ron, and Hermione had always thought that the locket felt scorching and arduous, sometimes so hot that it burnt skin at the touch (he had a scar on his seventeen-year-old self over his heart where the locket rested, though he no longer had it). What had changed? Knowing magic, Harry guessed that the locket was treating him much better because he intended to protect and heal the horcruxes rather than destroy them. Magic was all about intent.

Harry gently took the horcrux from Kreacher and cradled it in his hands.

This was a piece of Tom’s soul.

Before, he had been so focused on destroying it, so disgusted by the horcrux, that he had never appreciated that there was quite literally a portion of someone’s soul in it. This locket, this horcrux, was a key to a brighter future, Harry knew that for certain.

He patted his pockets in search of somewhere to put it. Perhaps he should go to Diagon Alley and buy an expandable pouch like the one Hermione had? It would make keeping the horcruxes and his notes on them and the future that much easier.

It wouldn’t do for anyone to catch wind of what he was doing or how he knew so much. _Especially_ Dumbledore.

Dumbledore was someone he didn’t know how to deal with. In the end, it didn’t matter how much he cared for Harry – the Greater Good would always be more important and Harry would always have to die. Now, Harry didn’t want to die, and he didn’t want to kill Tom either, so Dumbledore’s plans for him were no longer what he wanted.

Harry had to navigate not only the Voldemort-Wraith and Quirrell’s plans, but Dumbledore’s too, without alienating _either_ _of them_.

Fun.

Tentatively, knowing there wasn’t anywhere better, Harry placed the locket around his neck, feeling rather comfortable surrounded in the warm magic. Voldemort had always felt like the sun to Harry. Brilliant and powerful and incredibly painful to be around. His horcruxes were the same, burning hot and angry at him, though now it felt like he was resting in a bath of warm water, entirely snug and safe. If this was how the horcruxes would treat him while he was acting as their protector, he could totally get behind this!

“Kreacher, take me to Diagon Alley please. Some side alley so I won’t be spotted,” Harry asked, and Kreacher did as he was told.

Once he was there, he told Kreacher to return to Grimmauld Place and maybe clean the house or take some time for himself. Kreacher took such orders happily, eager to listen to someone that wasn’t a portrait, despite his adoration for Mrs Black. It didn’t hurt that Harry was trying to be kind, Kreacher hadn’t yet helped lead to Sirius’ death, and Harry had helped him with the locket.

Since it was about one in the morning, Harry cast a weak notice-me-not charm on himself (he couldn’t make it any stronger without using his wand) so adults still up at that time wouldn’t question why a little kid was wandering the Alley so late.

He also tucked the locket into his Dudley-sized shirt, so no one would notice it. It’s magic still spread over him like a blanket and reassured him that it was still there.

Harry remembered that he still had some money left over from the trip he made to Diagon Alley on his birthday with Hagrid, so he didn’t go to Gringotts (also, just maybe, he was a little afraid that the goblins would somehow know that he had stolen from them in the future). Truly, the only thing he came for was the expandable pouch, so he made his way to a store that sold storage items. Luckily, it was still open at that time, at around one in the morning.

The purchase was simple. The notice-me-not charm didn’t make a difference since Harry purposefully brought attention to himself by asking to buy one of the moleskin pouches, though it was dark enough and the shopkeeper looked rather tired, so Harry’s identity was not revealed much to his relief.

Walking out of the store with the little pouch and a smile, Harry placed the notebook, pen, and locket into the pouch and closed it. The pouch was spelled so that only Harry could open it or remove it from his neck, so no one else would be finding out about his knowledge without his permission.

Only halfway down Diagon Alley did he realise how exhausted he was. Apparently, time travel took the energy right out of you.

Deciding to not go to Grimmauld Place without Sirius (it just felt wrong, even if Sirius hated the house, because it was still his), Harry wandlessly turned his hair pastel pink and his eyes an icy blue, as well as moving his fringe so that it covered his scar (which couldn’t be hidden by magic _or_ muggle means). It wouldn’t do to let people know that Harry Potter was here after all. He should have done that the moment he landed in Diagon Alley, really. No matter now, Harry walked into the Leaky Cauldron and asked the Tom who worked there for a room for the night.

With the morning would come a new life, and a new chance.

**_1 st September 1991 – Leaky Cauldron_ **

Harry awoke refreshed and excited.

Everything was packed already in either his trunk or the pouch, other than his wand in his hand, though he couldn’t use it until he reached Hogwarts anyways. He had been using wandless magic for any magic he needed to not getting any warnings.

He left the Leaky Cauldron with his hair still pink, though he removed the colour change for his eyes (they meant too much to him, and it hurt to look in a mirror and not see the green from his mother). He had Kreacher pop him over to King’s Cross Station, landing in a side alley just outside. While he knew how to apparate already, his magic was still too young to carry it out without splinching him.

Checking the time on a wall clock, Harry saw that he was just in time for the Weasleys to make an appearance.

Right on the dot!

He heard from a safe distance away Mrs Weasley mothering Percy, the twins, Ron, and Ginny with a fond smile on his face. Percy and the twins had just gone through and Mrs Weasley was explaining the entrance to Ron, both entirely distracted from Ginny.

Harry stepped forward and Ginny noticed him immediately. She smirked, a hint of the girl she had become. “I’m liking the new hair.”

Harry smirked right back, eyes bright. “I like it too, actually.” The light pink colour distracted from the fact that he was a carbon copy of James Potter. He had nothing against his father, but he was often annoyed when adults saw him as nothing but a mirror of his parents. The colour allowed for people to see him as his own person. “My eyes were blue too, but I like the green too much, so I changed them back.”

Ginny nodded solemnly and patted his cheek. “Too bad we broke up, you were such a heartbreaker with those eyes.” Harry from a few years ago would have blushed from the tips of his toes up to his ears but now he only grinned at her.

“The others don’t suspect anything from me, by the way,” she mentioned. “They think the change in personality’s because I’m sad they’re leaving.”

“Smart.”

“Oh, hello, dear,” Mrs Weasley said, finally noticing him.

Harry reverted back to what he remembered from his eleven-year-old self: entirely afraid of adults and pretty much everything, to be honest. He hunched in on himself and looked down at his scuffed trainers. “Sorry to bother you, it’s just that I don’t know how to get to the platform, ma’am.”

“Oh, you poor dear,” Mrs tutted kindly and wiped his cheek before explaining how to go through the entrance. Ginny was shooting him impressed looks. Maybe the hat was right when it said that he’d do well in Slytherin.

So he, Mrs Weasley, and Ginny went through the brick wall and appeared on the other side.

Harry froze as he was hit over the head with the sight of so many people he had known and had remembered and had cherished. From a distance, it hadn’t affected him, but seeing Fred alive and well shook him up deeply. Looking at the other end of the platform, he thought he heard Cedric’s kind voice, and Lavender giggling. None of these people had survived last time, and here they were, never to know how soon it was, how soon they would die, how easily they could slip between his fingers. He couldn’t save them, they were gone, they were dead-

“Look at everyone, Harry,” Ginny whispered to him, snapping him out of his thoughts. Her face was sympathetic. He noticed that she kept glancing at Fred. “We can save all of this. We’ve been given another chance. Remember that.”

Harry released a breath and closed his eyes, leaning against a wall of the station. “Do you think the shock will ever go away?”

“Maybe,” Ginny tilted her head in consideration. “The pain will recede, the shock will too, but the memories never will.” She turned to look at him, a stubborn glint in her eyes. “Go on now, get that wonderful arse on the train.”

Harry snorted, shook out of his melancholy mood.

“Don’t let your mum hear you talk like that! And sorry you can’t come too this year.” He remembered how left out she felt in their previous life.

She scoffed, “Please, a whole year with no school? A whole year to visit Luna? Sounds like heaven to me.” Her eyes turned soft at the mention of her best friend. “Have fun protecting the Philosopher’s Stone and blowing everyone away with your superior knowledge.”

“Excuse me, I’m going to act perfectly normal!”

“Of course.” Ginny shook her head at him. “Always content to stay in the shadows, huh?” She hugged him tightly, not verbally saying goodbye though he got the message anyways. She whispered in his ear, and while he couldn’t see it, he could imagine the smirk on her face, “I bet you’ll be sorted into Slytherin.”

He jumped and pulled back, looking at her in shock. “What?”

“Please, you act so much like a Slytherin, so much like _Tom_ , that it surprises me sometimes.”

“Oh,” he said, surprised.

She shook her head, smiling at him fondly. “We won’t be able to contact each other this year, you know. We have no reason to know each other and no one’s seen us interact. It would be suspicious.”

He nodded hesitantly, “You’re right, even though I hate to admit it. It’s safer to not say anything about the future in letters anyways.” They turned to look at the gleaming red train. “See you next year, if all goes well.”

She waved goodbye and returned to her mother’s side as Harry made his way onto the train.

Harry snagged a different compartment to the one he picked in his last life. And considering that he was in a different compartment, and that he had gotten onto the train at the very last second, later than he had last time, it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise that Malfoy came across him before Ron did.

At the sight of the pale blond hair and clear grey eyes, Harry sucked in a deep breath, trying to not think about _fire fire fire it burns the horcrux the horcrux is screaming and my friends are screaming and Malfoy is screaming and I have to save him he can’t die he can’t and it saves my life Narcissa Malfoy saved my life ‘He’s dead’ ‘He’s dead’ and Voldemort is dead but he is_ n’t anymore-

Harry released the breath slowly and threw his memories out of the metaphorical window.

Malfoy was talking about how he recognised him from when they met each other at Madam Malkin’s and how people were saying that Harry Potter was on the train and was that him? And what did he do with his hair?

Harry answered the questions with the patience of a saint. One of the short-term goals he had in this life was to not antagonize Malfoy, though he wasn’t sure how long that was going to last until he just gave up and punched him in the face Third-Year-Hermione-style (which was a Patronus-worthy memory, if he were honest. He was never ever forgetting that, even if he befriended Malfoy). Malfoy finally stopped talking and held out his hand, saying something about helping him navigate with other families. Harry tried deeply to not be offended and he reached out and shook hands with Malfoy (he never thought that would happen but sacrifices must be made sometimes).

Malfoy left, Harry guessed to other pureblood friends of his. He knew from what Neville told him that most purebloods knew each other before they even went to Hogwarts from a fun mixture of betrothals, distant relatives, shared lessons, or fancy balls. Neville wasn’t very good at socialising but he had spoken to several other pureblood children in their year before first attending school, which was more than, say, Harry or Hermione had.

It wasn’t their fault of course, though Harry did wish that muggleborns and muggle-raised were brought into the Wizarding World earlier than 11, which was just foolish in his opinion.

Harry stayed alone for a while, probably around an hour, reading the potions book in his trunk so that he wouldn’t be caught out by any questions Snape decided to throw his way. Even despite his pink hair and his _hopeful_ sorting into Slytherin, he didn’t doubt Snape’s hatred for James Potter that had transcended generations, murders, and a war in his last life.

Look, Harry _knew_ that Snape was an asshole, alright? He wasn’t a very good teacher, and he was rather childish when it came to anything related to his childhood bullies, and he had treated the majority of the students _horrendously_ (he sure didn’t forget that time he was repeatedly mind-raped or the time Snape made fun of Hermione’s teeth in Fourth Year). Even though Harry _knew_ all of this, his bleeding heart had already stretched to allow Tom Riddle, so why not Snape? So yes, Harry knew that Snape was a dick, but he still had a strange urge to prove himself to him.

Harry was interrupted from his thoughts when he heard a knock on his compartment door, who turned out to be Neville.

“Hi,” he stuttered, and Harry instinctively smiled at both the timid boy and the memories he had of his past life. “Have you- have you seen a toad? I lost him. Oh, Gran’s going to be so mad that I lost Trevor!”

If Harry wasn’t trying so hard to not be seen as a prodigy (it felt like cheating to have all of his knowledge of school and pitting him against literal eleven year olds), he would just use the summoning charm. Or even worse, people would assume that he had training before school and everyone would see him as a spoiled brat – something he _really very did not want_.

“No, sorry. But if you don’t find your toad by the time we get to Hogwarts, staff members will sweep the train and find him so, you may as well sit down,” Harry offered.

Neville did so and awkwardly sat across from him. Not wanting Neville to wallow in anxiety any longer than necessary, Harry told him, still leafing through the potions book, “I read through a herbology book the other day. I’m new to all of this magic stuff, you see, so I’m rather confused about some things.” Neville immediately lit up and began rambling about herbology.

They looked up when the door opened to reveal Hermione.

“Neville, did you find Trevor?” Before he could respond, she turned to Harry, glancing at his pink hair, “Do they let students dye their hair? Is there a rule in the dress code about that? Is there a rule book anywhere, do you think?”

Neville seemed to awkward to answer her and Harry was used to Hermione after seven years of interacting with her so he didn’t even blink.

“No, Neville didn’t find Trevor. Staff members will sweep the train and bring him back once we get to Hogwarts, I’m sure. And I have no clue about the dress code but I don’t see why having pink hair would be an issue.”

Hermione considered him for a moment before nodding. She plopped herself down next to Neville and extended a hand towards the compartment, “My name’s Hermione Granger, I’m a muggleborn and I was ever so surprised when Professor McGonagall came to deliver my letter-”

“Oh!” Neville accidentally interrupted, “Sorry, I never introduced myself. I’m Neville Longbottom.”

Harry decided to humour them. They’d find out who he was soon enough anyways.

“I’m Harry Potter.”

They acted just as he expected they would – their eyes shot to his fringe, which his scar was hidden behind. Harry adored Hermione but her overbearing attitude could drive him crazy, especially in First Year. She immediately began questioning him on what she had read in books, and Neville was stuttering on about his scar.

Harry immediately shut that down, first by telling Hermione that the books about him were ‘bullshit’. Then he asked them what they were looking forward to at Hogwarts which distracted them well. Damn. Maybe he _should_ have been a Slytherin.

The conversation continued until they arrived at Hogsmeade Station.

They climbed into the boats after Harry waved hello to Hagrid. A girl who introduced herself as Morag MacDougal joined them. Harry remembered literally nothing about her other than she was sorted into Ravenclaw.

Everything went how he remembered it, as a wonderous hush settled over the students when Hogwarts appeared through the fog. They fixed themselves up when McGonagall told them to. Harry spotted Ron through the crowd and made a mental note to talk to him at some point. He treasured their friendship and hoped that it would be as strong as before.

They were led through the Entrance Hall and then into the Great Hall.

Next to him, Hermione was muttering about the ceiling and Hogwarts: A History, and MacDougal commented something about the ghosts to her so the two girls were whispering facts they remembered much to Neville’s anxiety.

Harry considered Neville for a moment.

Neville, in the end, was braver than them all, but Gryffindor treating him terribly in the first few years. Harry couldn’t, in good conscience, let it happen again. Harry himself certainly wouldn’t be returning to Gryffindor, as much as he loved it, since he was rather certain that the Sorting Hat would not offer him another choice. Harry had several ways of ensuring Neville’s happiness, one of which was just protecting him all the time, but no, the problem began with Gryffindor House’s prejudice. So, the easiest solution was to convince Neville to go into Hufflepuff.

Leaning close to Neville, Harry mumbled under his breath, “Any house you go in should be proud to have you.” Neville smiled at him through his nervousness. “I mean it, Nev. I won’t care if you get sorted into Hufflepuff or Gryffindor or even Slytherin!” Neville giggled

“Thanks, Harry,” he said, looking more relaxed. Harry nodded, his job done. He didn’t know if it would change anything but he hoped that giving Neville the confidence of friendship and support would make him less desperate in following his father’s footsteps, wanting to gain his grandmother’s affection.

The Sorting went exactly how he remembered it, with the exception of Neville.

Hermione went to Gryffindor, Neville went to Hufflepuff (yay, it worked!), MacDougal went to Ravenclaw, Malfoy went to Slytherin, and so on.

Finally, it was his turn.

He stepped up to the Sorting Hat, not arrogantly but it was certainly not the timid shuffle he did the last time. He heard the hall begin to mutter about his past, his fame, his parents, and his pink hair (Snape mentioned something about him ‘looking for attention’. Him? Looking for attention? Please).

He sat on the stool and his vision went black as the hat was placed on his head and fell over his eyes.

“Curious, curious,” said the hat in his mind. “Voldemort’s resurrection? A time traveller? Master of Death? You _are_ a unique one, aren’t you?”

“Err, you won’t say anything, will you?”

“Of course not. I am unable to reveal the secrets of anyone. Anyways, on to the sorting, Mr Potter. You have certainly done enough stunts to gain you the title of your old house. But that isn’t what you want this time, is it?”

“You already know what I want.”

“Yes, yes, you want the house I thought suited you best last time. And I certainly still stand with that opinion, Mr Potter. Restoring Voldemort? That might sound like a Gryffindor move with how reckless it sounds, but the way you plan to go about it, sneakily, using your knowledge to your advantage, influencing the future to how you want it, is positively reeking Slytherin.”

“I’m not restoring Voldemort,” Harry stubbornly replied. “I’m restoring Tom Riddle.”

“Same difference,” said the hat, before it whispered good luck and shouted aloud for everyone to hear, “SLYTHERIN!”

A shocked hush echoed through the Great Hall. Harry paid it no attention, having expected that. He stood, placed the hat back on the stool, and strolled merrily to the Slytherin table. Malfoy moved to the side to give him space and Harry sat down, ignoring the stares, whispers, glares, and awe-filled looks of the rest of the hall. He noticed out of the corner of his eye, Dumbledore looking at him in thought, Snape in disgust, and Quirrell in confusion. Ah, Quirrell. Behind that stutter and turban was a part of Voldemort’s soul. Another puzzle piece, the main puzzle piece.

One he would have to ignore until he had all of the horcruxes and a way to join them together.

Harry noticed that when he looked directly at Quirrell, his scar would grow warm, but not the searing pain it had been in the last time. It felt like the locket did. Was that warmth the horcrux within him, reaching out towards something it recognised as the same? Interesting.

Harry laid low as the Sorting continued, Dumbledore made his odd little speech, and dinner began. He had plenty of practice laying low between staying at the Dursleys and being on the run for over half a year. Even though he wasn’t prejudiced against Slytherins anymore, he still knew that plenty of his housemates had relatives who were Death Eaters and would love to rip him to shreds. Many of the older Slytherins and even some of the younger ones were glaring at him. Harry ignored it with ease.

As difficult as it would be, Harry knew that Slytherin was the place for him.

He wasn’t too worried about public opinion (he might hate it but he knew that it would be useful for when he saved Sirius in the future) since he was still the Boy-Who-Lived. Some people might call him the next Dark Lord or something, but most still looked to him as their saviour.

Anyways, he could easily control the media. After all, it wasn’t like he had no blackmail on a certain little bug.


	3. Encounters and Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first week of lessons at Hogwarts!  
> Enjoy!

** Chapter 3: Encounters and Lessons ** (3397 words)

**_2 nd September 1991 – Slytherin First Year Boys Dorms, Hogwarts_ **

Once Harry was sure that the other boys in his dorm were asleep, he crept out of the room and into the common room. It must have been about two in the morning and Harry doubted that he’d be all there in the morning in classes, but this was more urgent.

He stood at the entrance of the common room. He didn’t go immediately through though. First, he reached out with his magic. Hermione had told him about it while they were on the run, and he had become proficient at sensing wards after having to put up and pull down so many during their months on the run.

Ah, his suspicions proved correct.

He sensed a ward right at the doorway, presumably to warn Snape if any students left the common room at night. He wondered if there had been a similar one on the entrance to Gryffindor tower but he doubted it, or else he would have gotten into much more trouble than he had, considering just how much he wandered around at night in his last life.

Well, it should be easy enough to slip past the ward. Harry was tiny for an eleven year old, all he had to do was find a crack and wiggle through.

It took a few minutes but soon enough, he was making his way up to the seventh floor. It took longer than he was used to since the Slytherin dormitories were in the dungeons. He was tense as he tried to avoid coming across anyone, though luck seemed to be on his side for once and he was left in silence. He walked three times past the hidden door to the Room of Requirement and thought of the room of lost and hidden things.

He remembered clearly where the diadem rested. A few minutes of walking and he was standing right in front of it.

Harry reached out and gently touched one of the gems on its front. Just like the locket, he had never appreciated the beauty of the diadem and only focused on the terrible magic. Now, he could feel the warmth spread through his finger and into his body, and it felt like he was being wrapped in a cosy blanket once more. Harry carefully picked up the diadem, whispered, “You will be reunited soon, I promise,” and he placed the diadem in his little pouch that rested around his neck at all times.

With his goal for that day done, he left the room and began walking down the stairs.

Luck, however, was not on his side that time.

On the second floor, he bumped into Quirrell, who was apparently patrolling that night.

Quirrell seemed just as shocked to see him as Harry was. Before he could take points off or try to murder him or something, Harry blurted, “You know, there’s no need to stutter if you actually want to get any teaching done this year.”

Quirrell blinked at him, speechless.

Crap. Harry awkwardly continued, “I’m just saying. You’re unassuming enough already, no one would suspect you over, say, Snape. Don’t destroy our education any more than you have to.” Quirrell looked at him considerately, eyes lit up in interest, and Harry, having nothing left to say, began walking away in case he was about to die.

He heard, over his thumping heart, an amused and curious, “5 points from Slytherin for wandering after curfew,” behind him.

**_2 nd September 1991 – Great Hall_ **

Harry sat down next to Hermione that morning at breakfast, ignoring the looks from the other Gryffindors at having a pink-haired snake at their table.

Hermione took one look at the bags under his eyes and his rumpled hair before she sighed and handed him some tea. Harry muttered, “Thank Merlin for caffeine.”

“Maybe thank me instead,” Hermione said. Was that First Year Hermione Granger joking? Harry didn’t even know she could do that before the troll happened- Oh Morgana, was that going to happen again? “Anyways, I went to the library before breakfast and checked the rulebook of Hogwarts. Apparently, there is nothing against having unnaturally coloured hair, so you should be fine. And there’s some people called Metamorphmagi who can change their appearance at will without spells. How fascinating!”

Harry blinked. He didn’t even think to check the rules, which, thinking about it, was rather foolish of him. He bet that Snape was going to say something about his hair so it was best to be prepared. Ignoring her rambling about Metamorphmagi, Harry smiled, “Thanks, Hermione.”

After breakfast, the two of them met up with Malfoy (who seemed like he had smelt something bad when he noticed Hermione next to Harry) and the three made their way to Transfiguration, cat-McGonagall present on the desk. Harry gave her a little wave and a respectful nod when Malfoy and Hermione weren’t looking.

Now, to pick seats. Harry wanted to sit next to both of them but Malfoy clearly did not want to be anywhere near Hermione.

Hmm, how to rid Malfoy of his blood purist prejudice? Well, he didn’t have big green eyes for nothing!

“Draco,” Harry whispered, looking down at his shoes, “Can Hermione sit with us please?” Malfoy was quite obviously about to whine about how she was a ‘mudblood’ but Harry continued before he could say anything. “It’s just that, I never had friends before Hogwarts and Hermione and I got along so well on the Hogwarts Express. Please, Draco?”

Hermione head shot around to face him. “I didn’t have any friends before coming here either.” Harry turned to her, an elated look on his face. He didn’t miss Malfoy softening at the sight. Score!

“Urgh, fine,” Malfoy muttered, and he dragged Harry down onto the chair next to him. Harry in turn dragged Hermione down, a smirk on his face. He just out-Slytherin-ed a Slytherin!

The cat was looking at him rather impressed.

Several minutes later, the entire class was there except for Ron, who ran in a few seconds after the last bell and sat down on the last available seat, near the front. The class seemed confused for a moment, wondering where their teacher was. Harry was the only one not confused and both Malfoy and Hermione were looking at the cat on the desk whilst deep in thought. It seemed like he was sitting between the two most intelligent students in the class. Joy.

Like in his original timeline, Professor McGonagall turned from a cat into her human self, much to the wonder of all of the students, told off Ron for being late, transfigured her desk into a pig and back, and placed a matchstick in front of each student, telling them to transfigure it into a needle.

Harry found that it was incredibly difficult to hold back, especially when his magic was so eager to perform the spell correctly when it already knew how. On his first try, the matchstick turned into a perfect silver needle.

Hermione looked at him, shocked. Malfoy was considering him with a glint in his eyes, as if he were calculating whether he should become even closer friends with him then before. McGonagall walked up to their desk and congratulated him and awarded 5 points to Slytherin. Harry smirked inwardly at winning back the points he had lost that night.

Harry helped Hermione and Malfoy with theirs, not that they needed much help. He just gave them tips about intent and soon Slytherin and Gryffindor has several more points than before.

As students were leaving the classroom, McGonagall called for him to stay behind. “Go on,” he told Hermione and Malfoy. “It hopefully won’t be a minute. Head down to your next class.” So, Hermione went to Herbology and Malfoy walked her to her lesson as he had a free period. Apparently, all it took was an hour of chatting and puppy dog eyes to get Malfoy to be friendly to a muggleborn.

Harry walked up to Professor McGonagall’s desk as everyone else left the room. She was standing behind it much taller than he was.

“Mr Potter, I held you back because not only did you complete the objective of the lesson on your first try but you were the only student who could tell that I was the cat on the desk.” She looked at him sternly through her spectacles, though it was kind. “May I ask how you knew? Very few students each year can tell. I’d go so far as to say that only one or two each year manages to figure it out before I reveal myself.”

Harry _really_ did not want anyone knowing about the time travel, so he thought desperately for what to tell McGonagall. “I saw you yesterday at the feast, and the cat on the desk had markings that looked like your glasses. I just assumed, since you seem like a very no-nonsense kind of teacher, you wouldn’t let the class be here without a teacher present, so…”

He drifted off, but he needn’t have worried because McGonagall was looking at him very impressed. “That is very observant of you, Mr Potter.”

She sighed and sat down on her desk chair. “You have probably been told many times already, that you look incredibly like your father. Though,” she looked amusedly at his hair, “Hagrid did not mention the change in hair colour.”

“That’s a recent development,” Harry piped up. “And no, my relatives don’t really like my parents so I never heard much about them. But when I met Hagrid, he said that I look just like my father and I was worried that that was the only thing people would see when they look at me. So I changed it. It isn’t against the rules is it?” He knew it wasn’t but he wanted McGonagall’s assurance.

She looked slightly disturbed when he mentioned his relatives. Speaking of, did she know who he lived with?

“No worries, Mr Potter. It is not against the rules to change your hair colour, no. And it is perfectly reasonable to want to change your appearance.” She looked at him emotionally, though she stayed composed like she always did. Harry wondered if she had cared for his parents more than he had always thought. “Anyways, I fear I have kept you too long. Off you go now.”

Since First Year Slytherins had a free period, Harry went to look for Malfoy and they passed the hour playing chess.

Both Herbology and Charms passed by normally. Sprout had always treated him like any other student, and Flitwick, like last time, fell off his pile of books when he reached his name on the register but otherwise, he was treated like any other student, which was exactly the way Harry wanted it. In Charms, like Transfiguration, he performed the charm they were learning on his first try and he won Slytherin 10 points, which was nice. It made Malfoy smirk at Hermione, though the smirk was quickly wiped off when she performed the charm before he did. Ahh, friendship.

Oh, finally! The lesson Harry had been looking forward to the most!

After eating lunch at the Great Hall with Mahis friends, the Gryffindor and Slytherins made their way to Defence Against the Dark Arts.

The trio were one of the last to arrive and Harry looked attentively at Quirrell, who stood at the front of the classroom.

Just as he had hoped, Quirrell taught better in this lesson then he had all of his last First Year. His voice was still quiet and wary, but he _did_ have to portray the persona of a scared and traumatized man, so Harry wasn’t going to get angry about it. Anyways, a tense voice was _way_ better than that headache-inducing stutter.

They weren’t learning any spells that lesson. Quirrell was just talking them through what they would be doing for the rest of the year, then asking questions to see if anyone had read through the assigned books or had practiced at home before. It was actually a rather interesting lesson, though Harry supposed it made sense since Quirrell had experience teaching unlike most of the Defence professors they usually had (minus Snape, but he was just a terrible teacher in the first place).

Harry probably just had really low standards when it came to Defence professors, seeing as most (read: literally all of them) had posed some harm to him. Not that Remus _meant_ to, but Harry definitely counted being several metres away from a werewolf on the full moon a potentially harmful experience.

Harry noticed that throughout the entire lesson, Quirrell kept glancing at him, deep in thought and with a glint in his eye that screamed curiosity.

Only, was it his curiosity or Voldemort’s?

Harry had no desire to meet Voldemort yet. Truthfully, he only wanted to meet him when it was time to restore his soul. Something he still needed to figure out. He really hoped that Sirius was freed by Summer, not just because he wanted him free or he wanted freedom from the Dursleys, but that way, he would have access to the infamous Black library. Hopefully, an answer would be somewhere in there.

Harry had to make sure that he didn’t draw that much attention to himself. Revealing that he knew Quirrell was faking the stutter and that he was doing it to hide something saved him a year of headaches and bad teaching but it also inspired curiosity in Quirrell and perhaps Voldemort. He would just have to play it safe from then on. He also wanted to ensure somehow that Quirrell lived past the end of the year… somehow.

A part of him was worried that Quirrell would call for him to stay behind after class like McGonagall had done but luckily, he left with Hermione and Draco, who were bickering about something or another. Merlin, were they the new Ron and Hermione?

His heart hurt at the thought of Ron.

He had approached him in Transfiguration and then in Charms to try and strike up conversation, but Ron only told him that he didn’t want to talk to some snake. It hurt Harry immensely but he wasn’t about to force Ron to be his friend or anything. He just had to work on him over time. Subtly and without him noticing. He was a Slytherin, was he not?

He’d worry about it later, since Hermione and Draco were asking him to voice his opinion on a disagreement they had. Wait, when did Malfoy turn to Draco? Was the ferret growing on him? Damn.

**_6 th September 1991 – Potion’s Classroom, Hogwarts_ **

Potions was one class that Harry didn’t know how to feel about.

He hated it, since he was never very good at it and Snape had killed his love of the subject from the very first lesson.

Yet, he had managed to get an E in his Potions OWL with Snape’s crappy teaching, so surely he was not as terrible as Snape always said he was?

And now that he knew that Snape was not the terrible murderer Death Eater he thought he was, even though Snape was still an awful person, Harry couldn’t muster up the resentment he used to have. He’d be a grumpy arse too if he was forced to work a job he didn’t want for a decade (though he would still try to put some effort in and not bully children, but maybe that was just him).

On the Friday of their first lesson of potions, Harry, Hermione, and Draco walked into the classroom. Harry pointed out to Hermione that the red-haired boy in the corner was all alone and convinced her to partner with him. Maybe Ron would be more open to conversation with someone who wasn’t a Slytherin.

Draco and Harry sat at the front and just in time for Snape to walk in, say his frankly awesome introductory speech, insult them, and then take the register.

Just like in his old life, Snape paused at his name and commented snidely on his celebrity status. Harry said nothing in return. He stared at Snape and tried to make his eyes as big as possible without Snape catching on to what he was doing. Between his pink hair, Slytherin uniform, and big green eyes, Harry had high hopes that Snape would actually treat him like a human being. He had _prepared_ for this lesson, he really didn’t want to make a fool of himself.

And it seemed like the studying had not been for nothing.

“Potter!” Snape snapped all of a sudden, making all the students except for Harry jump. He had been expecting it. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

“The Draught of Living Death, Professor. A powerful sleeping draught,” Harry answered calmly.

Snape sneered, though after seven years of interactions, Harry saw his eyes soften just slightly. He whipped around to look at Draco, who sat up at the attention. “Mr Malfoy, where would I find a bezoar?”

Malfoy smiled when he realised it was a question he knew the answer to, “In the stomach of a goat, Sir. It neutralises most poisons.”

Snape then turned to Seamus Finnigan, who had been one of Harry’s dormmates in his last life, and asked, “Finnigan, what is the different between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Finnigan seemed to sink into his seat at the question. Harry would feel sorry for him, having been in the exact same position before, had he not been so relieved that Snape wouldn’t be as terrible to him as last time. “Err, I don’t know, Professor.”

“Typical,” Snape sneered, “Not opening a potions book before a lesson. There is no difference, they are the same plant, also known as aconite. 10 points to Slytherin and 5 points from Gryffindor.”

Harry blinked. Never had he won any points in Potions Class. Never. Maybe Potions won’t be so bad this time? Though whether it was because of his appearance or his House, he didn’t know, and he didn’t dare ask.

Instructions appear on the blackboard for the potion that cures boils. Harry and Draco seemed to work well together. Harry had the precision from cooking for the Dursleys to able to prepare the ingredients properly (though he had Draco explain _why_ they had to cut certain ingredients different ways), and Draco would be the one to stir the potion since Harry never seemed to be able to do it properly. They would take turns putting the ingredients in the cauldron and make up silly names for the colours that the potion changed into.

They chatted throughout the entire process, and Harry noticed Snape glancing their way more often than not. One time, Draco noticed him doing so and said to Harry, “Severus actually taught me Potions before Hogwarts.”

Harry blinked in confusion. Severus?

“Really?”

“Yes,” Draco nodded happily. “It’s because he’s my godfather, he hasn’t taught anyone else. That’s how I knew that it’s better to squash those onions than it is to cut them like it says in the textbook.”

“Oh.” That both explained a lot and brought up even more questions. “I just thought you were good at Potions.”

“I am!” Draco sniffed. Harry couldn’t help but laugh a little.

So Snape was Draco’s godfather. It explains why he swore an Unbreakable Vow to keep him safe in their Sixth Year, and why Draco experienced such favouritism from Snape all of the time. But Harry always saw the Malfoys as thinking they were above everyone. Were Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black friends with a poor, halfblood Severus Snape when they went to Hogwarts? Did they only become friends after they became Death Eaters? To make Snape the godfather of their perfect pureblood heir, the friendship must be a lot stronger than he thought it was. How curious. Were the Malfoys not the cold, unfeeling bastards they appeared to be (other than Narcissa. She _did_ seem like a cold, unfeeling bastard but she also sort of saved his life so he couldn’t exactly be mean to her without feeling bad about it)?

He’d have to investigate. Harry made a mental note to do so. Maybe he’d write a list of things he should do in his little muggle notebook…


	4. Trolls Bring People Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History repeats, with a twist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also idk if it says in the books at all but are the boys’ bathrooms’ locations ever mentioned? The girls’ bathrooms are, like Myrtle’s bathroom on the second floor, or the bathroom where the troll attacked Hermione. I don’t know where the boys bathrooms are so I just put them down the corridor to the girls’ bathrooms. Doesn't affect plot either way.

** Chapter 4: Trolls Bring People Together ** (3314 words)

**_31 st October 1991 – Slytherin First Year Boys Dorms, Hogwarts_ **

_ Tom’s Horcruxes: _

_Diary – In Malfoy Manor. Ginny will have it by next Summer._

_Ring – In the Gaunt Shack, difficult to reach with a lethal curse._

_~~Locket – In Grimmauld Place. Call for Kreacher? Wait until Sirius is free?~~ _

_Cup – In Lestrange Vault. Literally impossible to get, I’m not trying again._

_~~Diadem – In Hogwarts. Easily accessible once I’m there.~~ _

_~~Me – Free of charge.~~ _

_~~Nagini – Not even a horcrux yet and hopefully never.~~ _

Harry was, at that moment, in the library at a table in the back, scribbling away in his muggle notebook about the horcruxes, his notes, and his future plans.

He had multiple, very thick circles around the diary, ring, and cup, which were the only ones left to collect. The diary would be easy to get, that one was just a waiting game. But the ring and the cup? He was going to have to get help with both, and sadly, it would have to come from an adult.

Harry wondered if there was a way to get to Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault through Sirius, since he would be Lord Black and technically in charge of anyone with direct Black blood, including Bellatrix.

He would have to wait until he was freed to check all of that out unfortunately.

On the next page of the notebook laid his many scribbles of plans, some of them random, like learning more about the Malfoys, but most were to do with freeing Sirius, gathering the horcruxes, and restoring Tom.

Harry hadn’t had any luck with the latter yet, though he wasn’t exactly trying particularly hard. He would just stroll through the library and check for any books that piqued his interest, which wasn’t very many since he had never been one to read. He didn’t see much point though – if there was a ritual or spell in restoring a broken soul, it would either be in the restricted section or not be in the library at all.

“Harry?”

He glanced up from his book on healing spells (he had hidden the little notebook in it and he would be lying if he said that healing spells wouldn’t be useful) to see Morag standing across the library table with an expectant look in her eyes.

“Hi, Morag. What’s up?” he asked politely.

Morag had long black hair tied back in a braid, sharp brown eyes that fit well on her perpetually calculating face, and she was taller than Harry (who wasn’t?). At that moment, the sharp eyes and height worked in her favour as Harry was feeling slightly intimidated, even though she was literally an eleven year old.

She huffed at his question, though Harry saw a hint of a smile on her face. “It’s almost time for the Hallowe’en Feast, remember? We better make our way there if you don’t want to be late.”

Like in his last life, the Charms lesson earlier that day where they were learning the levitation charm ended in tears. Except, this time, Hermione had been crying because Pansy had insulted her ‘know-it-all’ tendencies with a sneer on her face.

Harry and Draco made sure to not let her run off and he insisted that she go to class instead of, say, cry in a bathroom. They looked at him oddly for the specific scenario but it seemed to work in getting Hermione to attend classes, so Harry was pretty confident that the troll would not be targeting anyone that day.

Thoughts on the troll turned his mind to Ron, who had not been the cause of Hermione’s tears this time around.

Oddly enough, the entire time at Hogwarts so far, Ron had been strangely silent. It seemed like he had not made any friends and was often alone or with his brothers. It hurt Harry to see him like so but every time he tried to approach him, Ron had not wanted to associate with a Slytherin.

Harry put the book on healing spells back onto the shelf (first slipping his muggle notebook into his pouch without Morag noticing) and he and Morag made their way to the Great Hall and to their respective house tables.

The Great Hall was all decked out in Hallowe’en decorations. Great big pumpkins decorated the room, bats fluttered high near the ceiling that looked like a clear night sky, and best of all, the food was _delicious_. The food at feasts was always better than on ordinary school days! Even though this wasn’t his first time seeing this, like his fellow First Years, the sight still managed to make him stare in awe.

Harry took a seat next to Draco at the Slytherin table and he tried to enjoy the meal the best he could whilst trying to forget that a troll would be rampaging the school within the hour.

Draco managed to distract him with talk on Quidditch. Harry had been on his best behaviour during flying lessons, and whilst he _adored_ Quidditch, he loved flying itself more for the feeling of freedom it gave him. So, while Harry had not joined the Quidditch team, he was keeping up with the Quidditch House Cup thanks to Draco telling him all about the strengths and weaknesses of all of the house teams.

Before he knew it, an hour had passed and Harry was painfully aware that Quirrell could burst through the doors any minute.

Harry, out of habit, did a cursory glance of his friends at each house table (“CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” was permanently seared into his mind) to ensure that they were fine and that he didn’t miss anyone. Even though Ron wasn’t his ‘friend’ in this life, Harry still checked for him and his heart rate picked up immediately when he noticed that he wasn’t in the Great Hall.

The doors burst open and Quirrell made his little performance before Harry could interrogate any of the other First Years about Ron’s whereabouts.

The houses began being chaotically escorted out of the Great Hall (Hufflepuffs and Slytherins were being led to a large, abandoned, empty hall that used to host Duelling Competitions on the fourth floor, seeing as the danger was in the dungeons were their common rooms were).

Draco had gone up to a prefect to demand answers on what was happening so Harry made his leave and sneaked over to the Gryffindors.

His breathing turned panicked when no one had seemed to notice Ron’s absence-

Wait!

Up ahead, Harry saw Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas muttering to themselves. Thomas asked the other, “Where’s Weasley? He doesn’t know about the troll!”

Harry perked up and moved closer, but the pair followed the prefects, apparently not going to go after Ron. That was just fine to Harry, it meant that he could do it himself and not have to worry anyone else getting hurt.

“I asked him after Charms where he was going and he just said that he was feeling homesick and that he was going to the bathroom. He hasn’t been in any classes since!”

Harry’s stomach dropped and his breath caught.

Merlin, how history seemed to love to repeat itself!

Maybe Harry should have told Quirrell before that day not to bring in the troll, but he didn’t regret his decision not to intervene. He stood by his choice to not draw any attention to himself – having a curious Voldemort following him around before his soul was healed was the _last_ thing Harry needed.

Harry turned around, intending to go and find Ron, but he found himself face to face with Hermione instead.

“Why are you here and where do you think you’re going?” her eyebrow raised expectantly.

Harry shuffled on the spot nervously. He may be mentally seventeen (or eighteen now?) but that expression on Hermione’s face never meant good things for him. “Ron Weasley is missing. Finnigan said that he’s in the second floor boys’ bathroom. I was just going to tell him about the troll.”

Hermione hummed. She reluctantly but determinedly declared, “I’ll go with you.”

“No, really, it’s alright, Hermione,” Harry tried to insist but she wasn’t taking any of it. She was just as stubborn as he remembered her. He couldn’t help but smile.

So that was how Harry found himself standing outside the third floor boys’ bathroom. It was down the hall from the girls’ bathroom and just far enough to not hear the crashes or smell the awful odour of the troll so at least Hermione didn’t have to be afraid for her life.

Hermione stood guard outside the door, tense with fear of being caught by teachers, and Harry entered the bathroom to find Ron.

One of the cubicles was locked closed so Harry approached it and rapped on the door lightly.

He heard a voice thick with emotion ask, “Who is it?”

“Harry,” he replied softly. “And Hermione is outside the door waiting for us.”

“What do you want?”

“It was the Hallowe’en Feast tonight. Quirrell burst into the Great Hall a few minutes ago and said that there’s a troll in the school. We should really get going in case it shows up.”

It was silent for a few, short, tense minutes, and Harry wondered for a second if he would have to force Ron out of the bathroom, when he heard the door unlock and open slightly to reveal rumpled ginger hair and eyes red from crying.

“What’s wrong?” he awkwardly asked. He had never been good at comforting people.

Ron’s shoulders raised defensively, but he muttered something about not having any friends and missing his family. That’s understandable, Harry thought, as he missed Ginny greatly too.

They were interrupted by the sound of a scream that sounded worryingly like Hermione. They rushed out of the room to find Hermione frozen in shock. That was when he noticed the terrible smell in the air. Looking in the direction of the girls’ bathroom, Harry eyed a big, angry, troll at the end of the corridor and let out a sigh.

History liked to repeat itself and Fate hated him apparently. Great.

“Stay here!” he ordered to Hermione and Ron immediately.

He shot forward, casting shield charms in front of Hermione, Ron, and himself. They yelled at him to stop but they couldn’t follow him because of the extra magic he put in the shield charm which stopped people from passing through it.

“Bombarda!” He aimed the spell at the wall and ceiling around the troll. He knew that a stupefy wouldn’t do anything because of the troll’s thick magic-resistant skin but Ron managed to knock it out with its club in his last life so he could try something similar.

The spell hit its mark and large rocks blasted through the corridor. Several hit the troll and knocked it out, but they only bounced off the shields he put up around him and his friends.

Once bits of rock had stopped raining down, the shields flickered out and Hermione and Ron rushed forward to where he stood.

“Harry! You could have been hurt!” Hermione mothered, still shaken. Ron only gaped at him.

“That was a really advanced spell!” he exclaimed in awe. Harry’s cheeks turned pink even though he knew it wasn’t fair since he could only cause such an advanced spell because he was actually eighteen.

“Harry’s really good with spells,” Hermione told Ron. She then turned sharp eyes on Harry. “Though he could certainly work harder with his theory.” Even though it was only First Year material, Harry had never liked learning about theory, and he purposefully didn’t put much effort so he wouldn’t stand out (though he was getting better grades than he had in his last life).

“I just read ahead,” he told them, still embarrassed at Ron’s reaction. He had only done it to save them.

Since Ron had been found and the troll dealt with much quicker than last time, the teachers had yet to arrive, and Harry didn’t want to be caught this time around.

“Guys, you should go to your common room.”

Hermione sucked in a breath, apparently having forgotten that they were breaking the rules.

As they turned away from the ‘crime scene’, Harry non-verbally cast a spell to hide their magical signatures (Sirius had taught it to him on the sly during Christmas in Fifth Year with a wink).

Ron seemed to have gotten over his past apprehension at associating with a Slytherin after being saved by one, since the three chatted as they rushed to the nearest staircase. Hermione and Ron went to Gryffindor Tower and Harry went to the fourth floor to where Slytherin and Hufflepuff were gathering.

Merlin, what happened to trying to befriend Ron in a subtle and Slytherin manner? It seemed like the trio had been brought together by fighting a troll once more.

It must be written in the stars, he thought sarcastically. He did remember Death refer to Fate as another being though so he wouldn’t be surprised if she specifically had it out for him too.

Harry slipped into the large, dusty hall on the fourth floor and next to Draco, and just in time too as the door slammed opened to reveal a limping Snape.

**_31 st October 1991 – Duelling Hall, Hogwarts_ **

Severus stepped into the vast, abandoned hall that had once been used for duelling, trying not to draw attention to his aching leg. Such a shame that duelling was no longer a viable class option anymore. Severus owned Albus Dumbledore much but that didn’t mean that he had to like him.

One of the things he disliked about the man was how he had gotten rid of a slew of excellent classes on the principle that it was ‘too dangerous’.

Foolish.

Dark wizards would always find a way around the law, and criminalising or hiding them would just make it so that those who still tried them had no guidance and could hurt themselves or others further. Look at him, for example.

His piercing eyes ran over his many students, noting their fear and discontent. He stopped when he came across his godson and Potter’s _spawn_.

Oh, how it had tickling him greatly when Harry Potter was sorted into his house. At first, he had been momentarily disgusted, but Minerva’s horrified expression only brought him joy. _Potter Senior would be rolling in his grave._

But Lily wouldn’t care, would she?

Over the years, he had imagined the boy as a carbon copy of Potter, and while he could see the same face shape and body frame, the boy was so much smaller than his housemates, and his bright green eyes and pale pink hair brought his mind to Lily, who would have laughed merrily at the hair colour.

So, Severus had elected to ignore the boy. See if he would be just as _arrogant_ and horrible as his father. Fame and a loving household had no doubt corrupted his mind already, he had been certain.

It had entirely surprised him when Potter had been quiet in his first lesson with him and had correctly answered the Fifth Year level question he had given to get a rise out of him. He ignored him for the rest of the lesson, thinking deeply.

He had still been thinking deeply in the teachers’ meeting at the end of the first month they had every year to see how the students were settling in. Minerva mentioned Potter’s proficiency in her lessons with pride, and many of the other teachers that had taught Potter in the past month piped up about his skill in their lessons.

Severus sneered at their blatant worship of the group Potter walked on. While he could admit, somewhere deep inside of him, that Potter wasn’t the arrogant toe rag that he had expected, he wasn’t this perfect child that all of the professors needed to fawn on for longer than any other student. Potter needed to be treated like an ordinary student, _without_ any hero worship that the other professors seemed to be so inclined to have. Well, other than Quirrell.

While Severus _had_ been planning to indirectly make the boy’s life difficult, it proved impossible to do so once he was sorted to Slytherin and spent most of his time with his godson. If Draco could see something worthwhile in Potter’s spawn, then Severus could, just perhaps, give him a chance. Maybe.

His eyes flickered between the two First Years.

He could hear Draco whisper harshly to Potter, “Where have you been?” and Potter tell him that he would explain later.

Interesting. Had the boy not followed direct orders and instead went exploring?

He, Minerva, and Quirrell (who had been acting rather suspicious that past week) had gone to deal with the troll who turned out to be on the second floor. They were all entirely shocked to find the corridor partially destroyed and the troll knocked out. Minerva had checked for any magical signatures, but she didn’t find anything. With no leads, Severus let Minerva and Quirrell move the troll while he went to check with his snakelets.

How coincidental that Potter had not been present and the corridor was exploded where the troll was.

For a moment, he wondered if Potter was in any way involved, but how would he have exploded the corridor and then hidden his magical signature? No matter how much the other professors sang his praises, there was no way that an eleven year old could be that advanced. So Severus discarded the thought, though he made a note to keep an even closer eye on the boy.

**_31 st October 1991 – Duelling Hall, Hogwarts_ **

Draco noticed his sudden appearance and hissed (though not Parseltongue, Harry laughed mentally as he pictured how everyone would react when _that_ was revealed), “Where have you been?”

“I’ll tell you later when we get back to the common room. Promise!” he added when Draco glared impatiently at him. While he was much nicer than he was last time, he was still just as spoilt.

Harry noticed the limp immediately when Snape walked into the hall, though he supposed that he was looking for it so that was why he knew what to look for. Draco was very observant and he didn’t seem concerned, so Harry assumed that he didn’t see it.

Harry wondered if he should go and get the stone before Quirrell would attempt anything else. He might not like Snape but he grudgingly respected him and if he could prevent any bodily harm, he would do it in a heartbeat. Then again… he had never wanted the stone for himself and he knew that Quirrell would never be able to reach the stone through the Mirror of Erised.

So overall, Harry wasn’t too worried about the stone’s protection. He just had to keep with the plan of somehow getting Sirius freed whilst trying to not change the timeline too much, or else his knowledge would be useless, wouldn’t it?

At least Ron was friendly with him now! That was one of the things that had hurt him the most, if he was honest, so he was glad to have him back.

What was the next major event in this year’s timeline? Ah yes – the Quidditch match. No way to kill him during the Quidditch match this time if he wasn’t playing, was there, Quirrell? Harry was considering not even going if he was honest. Less chance to die that way. He knew that Draco wouldn’t allow that though… maybe he could convince Hermione to argue with him until she won (she always did in the end unless it was about pureblood culture, which she didn’t know much about yet).

Harry lay in his bed after Slytherin returned to their common room.

He would brave the future and hope for the best. He couldn’t do much _but_ hope at that point.


	5. Quidditch and Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we have some Quidditch and some Weasley love, because I love me some Weasleys.  
> Enjoy!

** Chapter 5: Quidditch and Friends  ** (4858 words)

**_Early November 1991 – The Lair, Hogwarts_ **

“Do we really have to do this?” Harry complained. He’d much rather be in the library finishing his homework or looking up anything on healing, restoration, or soul magic.

He immediately grimaced at the thought. Since when had he turned into Hermione? The girl in question had a similar expression on her face next to him.

Since the group of friends couldn’t hang out in their common rooms since they were from different houses, they had taken to spending their free time in an abandoned classroom on the second floor. They spent a few days cleaning it up and now the six of them (Harry, Hermione, Ron, Neville, Morag, and Draco) often gathered in what they had dubbed their ‘ _Lair’_.

Currently, Harry was being badgered by Ron and Draco into playing chess with them.

At first, Ron and Draco had been very awkward around each other. While Ron had gotten over his house when it came to Harry, it had been very difficult to do the same to Draco, especially with that little feud between the two families that Harry knew almost nothing about. However, they seemed to have bonded spectacularly over _him_ for some reason. Especially with the fact that he was absolutely _useless_ at chess.

Draco peered at him from across the table, pausing for a second in his resetting the chess board. They had already played several games that always ended in Harry losing. Ron scoffed next to the blond. “ _Yes_ , Harry. It’s simply a crime that you don’t like chess,” Draco insisted.

Ron nodded determinedly next to him.

“Honestly,” Hermione huffed and brought out a book on history from her bag. Oh, how Harry wished to copy her.

Morag laughed from his other side. “It isn’t so bad, Harry.” Still, she made no move to save him and instead she also brought out a book. Were they trying to torture him?

Neville sat on Draco’s other side and looked up from where he was doing his homework to glance between his friends in amusement. Harry knew it – they were finding some sort of perverse pleasure out of forcing him to play chess. “I’ll help you if you like,” Neville offered, noticing his frustration.

“Nope!” Ron countered. “Sorry, mate, but Harry should learn to play on his own. It’s a rite of passage.” Draco nodded in agreement.

Harry groaned.

“Really?” Harry whined. “We’ve already played twice. I don’t think any amount of playing chess is going to make me better at it.” He would know, he’d been playing against Ron for seven years now and he didn’t think he had improved much.

Ron and Draco only stared at him flatly, making him laugh.

He couldn’t stay angry at them, not when he was so delighted to see them act young and silly, like someone not wanting to play chess was the end of the world. What he would pay to see the Ron from his past life learn that he made friends with Draco.

To be honest, it was scary how well they got along.

Harry had never noticed that Draco and Ron were so similar before, but it was true. Prejudiced without meaning to, pureblooded, stubborn, and most significantly at that moment in time, obsessed with chess.

Ron and Draco sighed when he wouldn’t give up and they merely resigned themselves to playing against each other.

Harry didn’t understand why they wanted to play against him so badly anyways! Wasn’t it boring playing when your opponent was terrible at the game? No matter now, Harry happily sat back in his chair, pulled out a book from his bag, and copied Hermione and Morag gladly.

Ron piped up halfway through the game with Draco an hour or so later, “Is anyone going to the Quidditch match next week?”

Draco scoffed. “Who isn’t? First match of the year! And it’s Gryffindor against Slytherin too!”

“I’m not,” Hermione said, not even looking up from her book.

Ron and Draco gaped at her in horror and Harry, Morag, and Neville laughed at their faces. “If you don’t, they’ll probably drag you anyways,” Morag told the other girl.

Ron crossed his arms. “You bet we are!”

Harry snorted.

“And you!” Draco rounded on him. “You better be there too, supporting your house! You spend too much time in the library as it is!”

Hermione looked up from her history book at that. She looked at Harry, deep in thought, a curious glint in her eyes. “What is it that you’re searching for in the library, anyways?” she asked.

Harry shuffled in his seat uncomfortably. Hermione was too perceptive, she would probably notice if he lied, but he _really_ didn’t want anyone knowing about soul magic, and especially not the time travel. Except, he admitted, perhaps Tom could know, if he proved himself to not be an evil bastard once his soul was restored.

“I’m just looking around,” he said casually, shrugging at all of the curious looks. Had they all noticed his habit to wander the library? Maybe they were all more observant than he had given them credit for. “Healing magic is interesting,” he added to get them off his back.

“Do you want to be a healer after Hogwarts?” Morag asked curiously.

Harry had never really thought about what he wanted to do after Hogwarts, if he were honest. He didn’t think that he would ever _live_ to see past Hogwarts, actually.

Hermione had always been one to plan for the future. She wanted to either go into law or the rights of magical creatures if he remembered correctly. Even Ron had been thinking about auror training or finishing his education, while Harry was wallowing in memories and reeling over how he was still alive when so many were dead. It was only the fact that they were alive now that kept him from hiding out in the kitchens brooding.

Merlin, even Ginny and Luna knew what they had wanted – Ginny wanted to be a professional Quidditch player and Luna wanted to be a magizoologist! But Harry? Nada.

“Maybe,” he said carefully. A healer didn’t sound too bad, he supposed.

Unwillingly, his mind turned to those wonderful hours spent in the Room of Requirement in his Fifth Year, running and teaching the DA. He remembered the rush and the pleasure that came from a successful spell cast. He remembered Ron and Hermione’s proud looks in his direction. He remembered having such a good Defence OWL score that he even beat the record.

He remembered that Tom had wanted to be the Defence Professor at Hogwarts, and Harry was becoming increasingly petty as he aged.

“Maybe a professor instead.”

**_Early November 1991 – Spectator Stands, Quidditch Pitch, Hogwarts_ **

He had hoped that Hermione would be able to convince Ron and Draco that he and she didn’t _need_ to go to the Quidditch match but, like he suspected, the two Quidditch-fanatics wouldn’t take no for an answer.

It wasn’t that Harry didn’t like Quidditch. Not at all – he adored it!

But watching from the stands never failed to infuriate him. He always found the snitch ages before the playing seekers caught on, and then he would just be bored and cold and frustrated. But alas, Draco and Ron would kill him if he didn’t go.

He also admitted, if only to himself, that he should probably go just to see if Quirrell would cause any bodily harm this time around.

So that was how he found himself surrounded by his friends in dry November weather sitting in the spectator stands. In his last life, he had been in the players’ places, and Hermione and Ron filled in what had happened from their point of view later.

They said that it had looked like Snape was muttering and they took that to mean that he was the one cursing his broom when he was actually keeping him safe (his friends’ faces when he had told him what Quirrell said about Snape’s innocence when confronting him by the Mirror always made him giggle). Then Hermione had rushed forward and set fire to Snape’s robes.

Hopefully, none of that would be needed this time.

There was a soft ache in his chest when he looked down and saw the two teams standing across from each other, Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint grudgingly shaking hands.

It used to be him down there, but now he was replaced with what looked like a weedy boy in the upper years.

“Draco, who’s the Gryffindor seeker?”

Draco peered over the railing and then turned back to him with a sneer. “That’s Eric Fallowfield. A Sixth Year. I don’t know much about him, though I’ve overheard that he isn’t the nicest. But most importantly, his Quidditch skills are _horrendous_!”

So, a few hours about to go to waste, watching two inept seekers pass by the snitch, while Harry was tortured with the sight of the little golden ball? Fun…

“I can’t wait until you join the Quidditch team next year,” Harry muttered to Draco, who smirked.

“He’s a bit more than just ‘not nice’,” Ron interjected from Harry’s other side. “I haven’t interacted with him, but Fred and George say that he’s an arse!”

Harry frowned.

Before he or Draco could reply, the match commenced and Lee Jordan began blessing their ears with his wonderful Quidditch commentary. If there was one think he could always count on, thought Harry, it was this brilliant commentary at Quidditch games. He used to listen to it absentmindedly while he searched for the snitch, and it was genuine poetry.

This was the first time his friends were listening to it, and they were all laughing heartily within a few minutes. Well, everyone but Draco, since Lee was biased towards Gryffindor, but Harry couldn’t find it in him to care when it was still so funny.

Draco was pouting and crossing his arms next to him.

Harry tentatively placed his hand on Draco’s arm. “You have to agree that the Slytherin team isn’t playing fairly, Draco.”

“Oh, what, are you a lion now?” he snapped harshly.

He seemed to regret it immediately though as his face crumpled. Harry didn’t hold it against him. It was difficult to when he saw Draco as so _young_ , especially compared to a seventeen year old Draco, desperate to keep his family alive, screaming for his life as the Room of Requirement succumbed to fiendfyre.

Harry shivered.

Draco awkwardly unwrapped his scarf and handed it to Harry, misinterpreting the shiver as being cold, while muttering, “Sorry.”

Harry brightened at the apology. He had already changed from his last life if he was apologising so easily. “It’s alright, Draco. I understand the hostility, though please don’t aim it at me.”

Draco nodded stiffly. “It’s just- everyone always makes fun of Slytherin.”

“And Slytherin is all sunshine and rainbows,” Harry sarcastically pointed out. He may be wearing green but he still remembered the open disdain the Slytherins held for him.

Draco huffed, “That’s not what I meant. Everyone always assumes that Slytherins are evil or something. It just annoys me.”

Harry patted his shoulder. “I don’t think Slytherins are evil. Especially seeing as _I_ am a Slytherin. But I do see your point. I just think that that, in this case, it’s deserved.”

They turned back to the pitch to see that Gryffindor were winning, but just barely. The Gryffindor chasers, Angelina, Katie, and Alicia were as amazing as ever. Now, if only Fallowfield wasn’t so shit, they might actually have stood a chance at winning!

Harry and Draco clapped along with the other Slytherins when their seeker finally caught the snitch, whilst the rest of their friends groaned dramatically but clapped as well.

Throughout the entire match, Harry had felt intense eyes on him. From the corner of his eyes, he could see where it was coming from. He wasn’t surprised whatsoever when it was Quirrell who had not stopped staring at him the whole time.

Harry was tense in anticipation.

Would he attack? How would he do it? Collapse a part of the stands? Make one of the bludgers attack him? Just outright throw a killing curse his way? So many possibilities!

When nothing came, Harry only became even more tense, so much so that his friends noticed it, when they were walking back up to the castle.

“Harry?” Morag softly but bluntly questioned. “Why are you so tense?”

“Just a feeling,” he mumbled awkwardly. He didn’t want his friends to think him odd or paranoid – even though he _was_.

Hermione hummed. “We’ll just keep a lookout, then.”

“Yeah, not to worry, Harry,” Neville smiled at him.

Harry couldn’t help but smile back. What did he do to deserve so many wonderful friends? They meant a great deal to him and moments like these only cemented his certainty in keeping them innocent in the ways of war.

He was already broken but his friends didn’t have to be.

Quirrell ended up not doing anything, much to Harry’s surprise and suspicion. Though, maybe he had inspired enough curiosity on the first night of the school year to make Quirrell and Voldemort not want to kill him. Something to think on.

Morag scratched her neck awkwardly, interrupting his thoughts. “Did you notice Professor Quirrell looking at you?”

“I did,” Hermione burst out.

Harry felt like moaning. He had been trying very hard to keep his friends away from the third floor, from the Cerberus, from Nicholas Flamel, but apparently, Fate was screwing with him again. “No, I didn’t notice,” he tried, but Ron only turned pensieve.

“I wonder why he’d be staring at you,” he tapped his lips with a finger. “Are you failing Defence or something?”

The group of friends stared at Ron incredulously. It was a very well known fact that Harry was miles ahead of everyone when it came to DADA, no matter how much he tried to hide his skill in it.

“Yeah, yeah, I was just trying,” Ron muttered.

“I can’t see why he would be staring at you, but he does it a lot during Defence too,” Draco frowned. “You don’t think that he’s some Boy-Who-Lived fanatic or something?”

Harry pursed his lips, trying very, very hard not to laugh. Ah, yes, Voldemort the Harry Potter fan. Quirrell the Dark Lord supporter is a fanatic of the Boy-Who-Lived. Wow, so obvious. “I don’t think so.”

“Do you think, maybe he’s a Death Eater?” Neville suggested.

Harry tensed. No no no, don’t let them get suspicious. Let them have a normal year at Hogwarts. Just one. Unfortunately, they all noticed him tensing up. Morag patted his back comfortingly, “Not to worry, Harry. While it’s a possibility, I doubt that Professor Quirrell is a Death Eater.”

That wasn’t the point, he thought.

The point was that Quirrell _was_ in fact a supporter of Voldemort. Harry did indeed know this fact, and he was trying to keep him alive anyways.

What worried him was getting his friends involved, and having them know that he was inadvertently helping the Dark Lord. What would Neville say, when his parents were tortured? What would Hermione say, when her demographic was being targeted?

No, they couldn’t find out.

**_Late November 1991 – Some Corridor on the First Floor, Hogwarts_ **

Harry had yet to speak to the twins in this life.

He didn’t entirely know how to go about it, honestly. He had no connection to them in this life, other than the Marauder’s Map (how would he explain how he knew what it was? How he knew that they had it?). Ron was the only other connection he had, really.

Well, he should have expected that anything to do with the twins or to him wouldn’t be normal.

Harry had been walking alone from the library to his common room just before curfew one day when he was grabbed and pushed into an abandoned corridor on the first floor.

His wand was out and pressed against his attacker’s neck before he could blink, though he relaxed when he heard a curious, “Lookie here, Gred. The ickle snake has great reflexes, doesn’t he?”

“That he does, Forge.”

Harry stepped back and took in the sight of the twins, who looked so incredibly young as Third Years. Even more, George still had both ears attacked and Fred was- Fred was _alive_. He felt rather choked up. He wasn’t able to look away, he drank in the sight of them with wide eyes.

“Such pretty hair too,” said the one called ‘Forge’. Harry had figured out how to tell them apart years ago through the pattern of freckles on their nose, which was _just_ different enough to see the difference, but just barely. The one speaking was Fred.

“Messy-”

“Pink-”

“And so soft!” finished George, patting his head. Harry couldn’t help but laugh at their antics. He had missed them.

“Why did you kidnap me?”

Fred and George brightened considerably at his laughter and amused tone of voice. Was that not the normal reaction people had when they were kidnapped, Harry thought drily. “We saw that Ronnie was spending a lot of time with some Firsties-”

“And we couldn’t help but notice that some of them were snakelets-”

“So we wanted to see if you were treating him right.”

Harry blinked. “And you thought that the best way to do that would be to kidnap an eleven year old?”

Fred and George looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, seeming to speak telepathically though Harry knew that they were just able to read each other very well, before looking back at him and nodded simultaneously. Harry sighed, though still amused.

“I care about Ron a lot,” he assured them. “I’ve actually wanted to meet you for a while now, since Ron told me about you.”

“Oh, really?” grinned George.

“And what has Ronnie been telling you, snakelet?” asked Fred who winked at him exaggeratedly.

“He said that you liked to play pranks.” Harry’s smile grew and the twins immediately puffed out their chests in pride. “That made me want to meet you because, apparently, my dad liked pranks when he went to Hogwarts.”

That was an understatement. He still remembered the stories Sirius and Remus had told him of their schooldays, and he made sure to never forget a single one. Any information he had on his parents, he hoarded with intense possessiveness.

“Well, you’ve come-”

“To the right place!”

“What would you like to do in the future?” Harry asked innocently, abruptly changing the subject.

He had been reminded of future plans earlier in the month thanks to his friends and he remembered the twins’ joke shop with great fondness. The twins looked at each other, hesitant for just a moment. Harry assumed that it was because they knew their mother disapproved of their dreams. While Harry loved Mrs Weasley, he had never liked that she insisted her children get Ministry jobs.

“Well-”

“We wanted to sell our products-”

“And own a joke shop!”

Harry grinned at them, “That sounds amazing! I think you guys would do a wonderful job. Do you have any set plans yet? Like a location, or a list of products?” He then slyly slipped in, “Do you have any money?”

“Err,” George grimaced.

Fred sighed and shook his head, acting serious for once. “We have a location – a store in Diagon Alley is closing down soon and we could have our shop be there. And we’ve been coming up with some ideas for our products, though we haven’t actually made any yet.”

“The only issue is money.”

“Hmm,” Harry smirked, deep in thought.

In his last life he had adored Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. It had brought a lot of joy and light in a war-torn world, and he would love to have it start up earlier than before. He certainly didn’t forget the products that were less to do with amusement and more to do with defence that seemed insanely useful. While he was trying to prevent the war in its entirety, he certainly wouldn’t protest to having an easy way to defend himself.

“ _If_ you can prove to me that it would be worthwhile,” Harry told them, “And only _if_ – I’ll invest in your joke shop.”

The twins were gaping at him.

“Ron should make friends more often,” Fred said faintly.

“You bet my left arse cheek that we’ll do all in our power to prove ourselves to you, Mr Potter,” George saluted him and Fred held a hand on his heart as if it had stopped.

Harry only smiled at them and left to make his way to the Slytherin common room, leaving a shocked Fred and George Weasley reeling in the corridor. It was good to see and speak to them again, Harry thought.

Now, he was friendly with Ron, with Fred, and with George. Hmm, the only one missing (in Hogwarts anyways) was Percy.

Harry supposed that befriending Percy and bringing the Weasley brothers closer together could be his side quest as he continued trying to find a way to prove Sirius’ innocence, bring together a mutilated soul, and save the world. As one does.

**_Early December 1991 – The Library, Hogwarts_ **

Peering through the bookshelf he was hiding behind, Harry could just make out the tall, lanky figure of Percy Weasley doing some homework, sitting on his own.

Behind him sat Ron, Neville, and the twins. The rest of their friends were busy doing something or another.

Ron and Neville were working together (and failing miserably) to finish the Potions essay Snape had set for them the previous day which Harry had already completed.

He had turned into _such_ a bookworm since he had arrived here, but he couldn’t help that everything was stupidly easy.

The twins had their heads together and a scribbled-on sheet of parchment between them. Harry assumed that the sheet had all of their ideas on possible pranks and products. Ever since their little encounter a week ago, they had become obsessively determined to prove themselves to him.

Of course, Harry would give them the money no matter what, but it didn’t hurt to encourage them to work harder. He was thinking of going to Gringotts over the Christmas holidays to check his vault and maybe figure out if there was a way to prove Pettigrew wasn’t dead. He would probably invest in their future joke shop during that trip. Only two to three weeks away then.

Seeing that they were all distracted, Harry slipped through the bookshelves and plopped himself down on the seat opposite Percy, who jumped.

“Hello, Weasley.” Harry looked down shyly, trying to seem young and polite. “Sorry if I am interrupting you but I had some questions. Could I ask you them? Do you mind?”

Percy seemed to shake himself out of whatever stupor that he had been in and sat up. His chest puffed out, probably because he prided himself so much in being a prefect. Harry had never liked his arrogant tendencies, but then he remembered Ron’s insecurities of never living up to his brothers and Harry wondered if Percy had the same fears, if that was what drove his ambition so ruthlessly. “Not at all, Potter. Ask away.”

Harry brought out his Charms homework from his bag and placed it on the table between them. He could, of course, easily complete it, but he wanted to befriend Percy and the only conceivable way to do it in his mind was through schoolwork.

If being friends with Ron and the twins wasn’t enough in his last life to befriend Percy, he doubted it would be enough in this one. Though maybe he had never tried hard enough.

“We’re having classes on the unlocking charm, Alohomora,” Harry explained. “I was just wondering if there was any way to spell something so that it _couldn’t_ be opened by Alohomora.”

Percy smiled at him. “There _are_ ways to spell or ward objects so that Alohomora won’t work on them, yes. Do you need specific examples? I assume this is extra credit work?”

“Yes, it is,” Harry nodded. It was, in fact, not, but Percy didn’t need to know that. “And I would love some examples, please.”

“Of course.” Percy disappeared for a few moments before returning with two books, one on putting hexes and jinxes on objects, and another on warding. “I tried to find ones more suitable for younger years, but this book on warding is for Fourth Years, my apologies.”

“It’s no problem at all!” Harry stared, surprised at the length Percy went to help him. If he was honest, he had expected Percy to just name him an example and then shoo him off for interrupting his precious studying time. He was, after all, in his OWL year. Harry remembered him as obsessive over studying for his exams. He was slightly touched. “Thanks, Percy.”

Percy opened the book on warding and pointed out a paragraph to him.

“Look, there’s the information on warding an object so it can’t be opened by Alohomora. Of course, there are other unlocking spells, but that ward also blocks out several others. And not to worry, Harry,” Percy looked up and smiled. “It’s my job as a prefect to help any student in need.” He puffed out his chest again. There was the Percy he knew!

“Still,” Harry insisted, touched. “Thanks a lot, Percy.”

Maybe complimenting him now would mean that when he was proclaimed a liar and an attention seeker in his Fourth and Fifth Years, Percy wouldn’t believe the rumours. Not that those accusations would ever happen again if he could help it.

Harry put the books and his Charms essay in his bag, waved bye to Percy (who smiled back. Progress!), and wandered back to the table where Ron, Neville, and the twins were seated at.

Neville and Ron had apparently given up on the Potions essay and had moved on to chess. Ron and Draco had roped Neville into the chess fanclub, much to Harry and Hermione’s dismay. Morag remained a neutral party, only finding amusement in the silly dispute. Meanwhile, the twins were still scribbling on their parchment.

The four of them looked up when he sat down at the table.

“Where did you go, Harry?” Neville asked shyly.

“Yeah, mate,” Ron piped up absently, tapping his chin in thought of the next play to make. “We could have used the help in the Potions essay.”

“Ask Hermione next time, Ron,” Harry joked. Hermione was a slave driver. Between him and Hermione, Ron would always pick him when it came to asking for essay help. Harry liked to think that he was… _gentler_.

“Hey, Pinkie-”

“Come over here.”

Harry moved over to where the twins had summoned him. They slid the parchment over the table and Harry picked it up. He caught sight of several products he remembered from the future, and some he had never heard of before. “This looks amazing,” he told them truthfully. “Think you’d be able to make any or are these just ideas?”

“We’ll get back to you on that,” Fred looked at him determinedly.

“We’ve almost reached the Christmas holidays-”

“So we’ll start making them between now and when they start-”

“And we’ll show you then.”

“Perfect,” Harry grinned. “I plan on staying over the holidays, but I also want to sneak out so I can go to Gringotts and check on some things. I can try and set up a vault and put it in your name – if you don’t mind.”

“Mind?” They gaped.

“Bloody mental, he is,” Fred nodded in his direction.

“Off his rocker.”

“No, we’d love that, Pinkie.”

“That would be brilliant.”

George then brought out another sheet of parchment, nicked his finger, and let a drop of blood splatter on the sheet. Fred did the same.

Harry blinked in confusion. “Why did you do that?”

“That’s to give to the goblins when they ask you for proof that we gave our permission to set up a vault in our name.”

“They can tell that we agreed of our own free will by testing our blood.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.” Harry frowned.

Fred patted his cheek. “You’re adorable when you pout. Now listen here, when you go to the goblins, I don’t know what business you plan to do, but ask for an inheritance test or something of the like while you’re there.”

“Yeah, it’s obvious that you’re new to the Wizarding World when it comes to some things-”

“Especially how to do things at Gringotts-”

“So just get the inheritance test and it’ll go fine.”

Harry smiled at the tennis match occurring in front of him. It never failed to make him dizzy, but he only felt fondness for them. He didn’t regret befriending them whatsoever.

If they told him to go and get an inheritance test, then sure, he’d listen to them. He was curious to see what it would reveal, actually – perhaps he was related to some distant family, or maybe his parents had left him some relic or another.

“Alright, I will.”


	6. Christmas Adventures!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is a chapter full of delicious stuff like Quirrell and Harry bantering, the Weasley twins, plans to free Sirius, goblins, the inheritance test, and more!  
> Enjoy!

** Chapter 6: Christmas Adventures!  ** (5506 words)

**_Last day before the Christmas holidays 1991 – Defence Classroom, Hogwarts_ **

Harry’s thoughts lingered on his friends’ suspicions of Quirrell as the class packed up at the end of a Defence lesson.

They were muttering beside him about plans to see if their professor was actually a supporter of ‘You-Know-Who’ (they all shivered or flinched when Harry referred to him as ‘Voldemort’, and Harry took a sort of perverse pleasure out of that. Call him unfeeling, but he found that fear of a name was utterly stupid).

Harry knew that Quirrell was technically a danger, that he wasn’t a good person, that he was a supporter of Voldemort, but Merlin damn it, Harry was _also_ technically a ‘supporter’ of Voldemort. As in, he didn’t want him dead. He just wanted to bring back Tom Riddle. And he wanted to keep Quirrell alive past the end of the year. To do that, he had to somehow alleviate his friends’ concerns.

It would be way easier to do so if Quirrell would just stop staring at him all of the bloody time!

Harry stubbornly stayed standing behind his chair as the classroom emptied. His friends were incredibly reluctant to leave him alone in the same room as Quirrell, but Harry insisted that they could stand outside the door and rush in if they heard a struggle.

Soon, the only people in the classroom were Harry, behind his desk chair, and Quirrell, leaning on his desk.

“Is there a problem, Mr Potter?”

Was that a smirk? That bastard.

Harry took out his wand slowly, ignoring Quirrell’s paranoid twitch of _his_ wand, and Harry tapped the door and muttered a silencing spell. He then turned back to Quirrell and firmly stated, “I’d very much like it if you stopped staring at me. My friends have grown suspicious of you, so if you don’t want any complains to Dumbledore, I recommend you stop.”

Quirrell raised an eyebrow and put his wand back in the holster on his arm. “Is that a threat, Mr Potter?”

“Not at all. I’m just estimating what would happen. My friends are rather… protective.” Which made him internally laugh, seeing as he had seven years of experience on all of them.

Quirrell’s piercing brown eyes cut into Harry almost as if he were seeing _through_ him. It greatly unnerved Harry but he pretended that he wasn’t at all bothered. “Of course, Mr Potter. I apologise if I made you uncomfortable. I was only keeping an eye on you.”

“Whatever for?” he asked innocently.

Quirrell smirked, amused, before turning stern once more. “Do not get in the way of the reason why I am here. You quite obviously know, somehow, what my task is so don’t make it any more difficult than it needs to be.”

Harry raised his arms in surrender, “Hey, I’m not trying to stop you. You keep on doing what you’re doing. I won’t get in the way.”

It’s not like Quirrell could get the stone anyways, though Harry wasn’t going to be the one to tell him that. He wasn’t _suicidal_.

Quirrell blinked, and looked at him oddly, as if he were a puzzle he couldn’t solve and he was missing a puzzle piece. Uh, yeah, the puzzle piece was time travel – of course he was missing it. “You- you want the Dark Lord- you want him resurrected?”

While Harry winced a bit at the reverence in Quirrell’s voice, Harry had to admit that he couldn’t deny it.

“I mean… yeah, pretty much.”

“Oh,” Quirrell muttered. “Okay, then.” Did Harry break him? “Well, err, you keep studying, I guess.” Harry snorted, which seemed to break Quirrell out of his shocked trance. Quirrell glared at him, quickly moving past the revelation that was discovering that the Boy-Who-Lived didn’t want the Dark Lord dead. “I am being serious. You’d already ace your exams as you are. Keep studying and you’ll be the top of the year. All of the teachers say only good things about you. It’s sort of sickening, really.”

Harry was slightly touched that all of the teachers were impressed, though he couldn’t take all of the credit seeing as he was technically cheating. And that it couldn’t possibly be _completely_ true. “Other than Snape, you mean?”

Quirrell sneered, which surprised Harry for a moment before he remembered that Snape had been actively trying to sabotage Quirrell’s attempts to nab the stone all year.

“Yes, Snape dislikes you greatly, Mr Potter,” Quirrell nodded his head in acknowledgement.

Harry gave him an obviously fake smile and shrugged. “It is entirely mutual, I assure you.” He may respect Snape a whole lot more this time, but it didn’t mean that he had to _like_ him.

Quirrell laughed at his expression, and it completely crashed into Harry all of a sudden that he and Quirrell – _he and Quirrell_ – were having a peaceful chat. What? What universe was he in? Quirrell calmed down and checked the time. “You best be off to dinner, Mr Potter, lest your friends worry and grow in their suspicions.”

“Right.” Harry picked up his bag and moved to leave the room, but he paused, hand on the doorknob. He drew in a breath. “How… how is your task coming along?”

Quirrell froze, even though they both knew that Harry somehow knew that Quirrell was a Death Eater and that he was there to steal the Philosopher’s Stone for his master. “I have… several plans of action that I plan to follow.”

Harry’s mind turned to memories of Norberta hatching.

A small, guilty part of him was happy that he hadn’t visited Hagrid as much this year (though still occasionally because he really liked Hagrid), so that he could avoid the Norwegian Ridgeback hatchling completely. Maybe he should send an anonymous note to Dumbledore when the time was right, so that no one would get hurt and no one would be going into the Forbidden bloody Forest for a detention. Harry knew that Dumbledore cared about Hagrid and wouldn’t let him be fired, so he wasn’t too worried about his job.

“Good luck,” Harry offered and left the room to find his friends anxiously waiting for him. _You’re going to need it_.

**_The first day of the Christmas Holidays 1991 – The Library, Hogwarts_ **

Much like in his first life, Hermione went home for the holidays. Along with her went Neville and Draco too.

That meant that it was only Harry, Ron, and Morag messing around in the library in no rush to complete their holiday homework.

While Harry and Ginny could not communicate, seeing as they had never even ‘met’, Ginny and Ron often wrote to each other and Ron liked talking about his family so Harry heard a lot about what Ginny was up to. According to Ron, Ginny was ‘so lonely’ without her brothers that she visited Luna Lovegood, a neighbour who was rather batty, most days.

Harry also knew that Ginny had gone with Mr and Mrs Weasley to Romania to visit Charlie, and that she had greatly enjoyed it last time so he only hoped that she had a nice time doing it again.

Meanwhile, Harry, Ron, and Morag were throwing paper airplanes at each other (Harry had to explain to them what airplanes were, since the two purebloods just called them ‘paper birds’). Harry was interrupted in his quest to fold the best paper airplane by the two identical Weasleys, who beckoned him closer.

“Pinkie-”

“We’ve done it!”

“Here are a few samples of three products we made-”

“And we tested them to make sure they were safe and that they worked correctly-”

“And everything is going fantastically!”

“So, want to see them in action?”

Harry giggled at their tennis match (damnit, he was mentally eighteen, he shouldn’t be _giggling_ ) and nodded. Fred and George gleefully dragged him off to a deep corner of the library, where Madam Pince would never find them.

For the next hour, Fred and George talked him through their process of actually _making_ and combining different potions and spells and layering them properly so they won’t mess up another, putting them together so that it’s stable, making them safe for human consumption or use, making it reversible, and making sure it worked properly and actually do what it was meant to do at the end of all of that.

Harry knew that the twins were a lot smarter than Mrs Weasley ever thought they were, but Harry was blown away. They were only _thirteen_ , and they were bloody brilliant!

Harry told them so and they batted their eyelashes at him which made him laugh again, much to their delight.

“So, whatdya say, Pink? Pinkie? Pinkster?”

George made an exaggerated pout and Fred literally fell to his knees and bowed in Harry’s direction.

“Will you give us the funds?”

“Help us fulfil our dreams?”

“Become unconditionally off of our pranking hitlist?”

Harry snorted. “I agree to all three of those things-” Before he could say anything else, he was immediately lifted into the air by an overjoyed George. Damn his tiny frame. Fred gave him a hug from behind, and Harry felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Guys,” he wheezed. “I can’t invest in your shop if I die before I can set it up.”

They immediately released him.

“Terribly sorry, business partner,” George patted him quickly on the shoulder.

Fred stuck out his hand and shook Harry’s strongly, making Harry’s arm ache. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr Potter. Pleasure indeed.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Harry grinned at them.

**_25 th December 1991 – Slytherin First Year Boys Dorms, Hogwarts_ **

Harry was the only Slytherin First Year to remain in school over the Christmas holidays, so he woke up early in the morning to an empty dorm room.

Much to his surprise (he was always surprised, every damn year. Oh how he really disliked his relatives for messing him up), there was a small pile of presents at the foot of his bed, greater in number than this time last life.

Harry got up excitedly.

One by one, he carefully unwrapped the presents and saved the wrapping paper, before _actually_ opening the presents. He got the same cute, crudely carved wooden flute that looked like an owl from Hagrid, a 50 pence coin from the Dursleys (he put it on Knot’s bed – the boy was a rather extreme blood supremist), some fudge and chocolate frogs from Hermione, a pair of Quidditch gloves from Draco with a note that he _would_ try out next year, a book each from Neville and Morag, and much to his delight, delicious fudge and a wonderful and warm knitted jumper from Mrs Weasley.

Immediately, Harry put it on and looked in the mirror in the bathroom.

He saw a scrawny, short boy, with tufts of pink hair going in every direction and bright green eyes, in a brilliantly soft and perfectly sized emerald green jumper with a silver ‘H’ on the front.

While already brilliant on its own, Harry also adored these jumpers for the sense of _belonging_ he felt while wearing them. He felt like he was truly a part of the Weasley family when he wore one amongst the other Weasleys.

Harry read the note as he ate a piece of fudge (perfect as always), already knowing that it was about how Ron said that his relatives wouldn’t be sending him anything so Mrs Weasley sent him the jumper and the fudge. Harry was greatly and embarrassedly thankful like before. A teeny tiny part of him was worried that his being sorted into Slytherin would make her not send him anything, but he was happy to be proven wrong.

Harry moved to lift his last present from his bed.

Ah, his elusive invisibility cloak. _The_ Invisibility Cloak.

As he gently touched the smooth and almost liquid material of his cloak, Harry felt an overwhelming surge of _delight_. Even in his old life, he had felt possessiveness in regard to his cloak. A connection to his father, a tool to move around undetected. Even at the barest description, it was beautiful.

Harry didn’t _want_ to be the Master of Death.

But Death had said, very explicitly and with no take-backsies, that Harry would have been the Master of Death with or without gathering the Hallows. No matter what he did, it had always been him who was fated to hold the title of Death’s Master.

This gave this cloak yet another layer of meaning to him.

Because not only was it his through his dad, through his ancestors, but it was his by _right_.

It was his by _magic._

_By Fate._

It was always meant to be his, and nothing could be done to take it away.

All of his life, he had always been a bit of a hoarder. He treasured the few things he nicked from Dudley, broken green soldier toys or mutilated slinkies. He felt at home in the trash and he had something that belonged to him, because if _Dudley_ didn’t want it, then it was free real estate! Harry had lived his whole life like that, guarding closely the few things that were rightfully his. His photo album of his parents, his broomstick, even his grades. They were all his.

Yet, they could be taken away, he knew. He could be reduced to nothing because anything of his could be taken.

But the Deathly Hallows?

He could feel, somehow, somewhere deep inside of him, that the Deathly Hallows were a _part of him_ , and that once he was reunited with them, never could they be taken away.

The Wand, the Stone, the Cloak.

The three objects he could without a doubt claim as his and to which no one could contest.

A surge of possessiveness tore its way through him as he put on the cloak and disappeared, in one single movement that revealed that he had been doing so for years.

No one would miss him for a few hours. He had woken up early to enjoy his presents and enjoy them he had. Now it was time to enjoy this one.

**_25 th December 1991 – An Abandoned Classroom, Hogwarts_ **

In the wee hours of the morning, before breakfast even began, Harry seemingly absently wandered the castle, though in reality, he was searching for a specific room- aha!

Harry softly nudged the door and let it swing out naturally, the few short rays of light escaping from the horizon cutting through his invisible form.

There, stood in front of him in all its glory, was the Mirror of Erised.

Harry, without thinking, let his Cloak fall from his shoulders and silently pool at the floor as he stepped forward, a hand reaching out towards the surface. In front of him, a familiar picture shifted from undefined smoke to clear features.

He saw himself, arm outstretched. Behind him stood his parents.

Twenty-one had seemed a century away at age eleven, but as an eighteen year old, a part of him had finally recognised just how _young_ his parents were. It was truly a tragedy, and there he was, the star of the show.

Unlike the last time he had gazed into the Mirror, alongside his parents stood Sirius and Remus, young and happy and entirely carefree. Remus had not one scar on his face and Sirius looked like he had never even _heard_ of dementors. Behind them stood his ancestors. He could see, between some of them, the few that had held the cloak before.

And the biggest surprise – next to him, like, directly to his left, stood Tom Riddle, looking as he did in the Chamber of Secrets, except with a happy look on his face rather than the horrifying smile he wore while trying to kill him.

Harry’s face made a weird little half grimace half smile.

A part of him was instantly delighted at seeing a halfway sane Tom, but another part of him just immediately thought, “Urgh, what are you doing here? This is a _family_ gathering, thank _you_.”

Still, his lips couldn’t help but twitch up at the handsome smile Tom gave him through the Mirror.

Urgh.

No.

That was the last time Harry got up so early in the morning. He must be sleep deprived.

Harry spun around, donned his Cloak, and left the room, not giving the images in the Mirror a second thought. He had only come here out of curiosity, really. See how he changed over the years. Apparently, his desire had not changed, only grown to include other people he had found that had been a part of his family. Plus Tom, for some reason-

Nope. He said he wouldn’t think about it, so he wouldn’t. He’d only hurt his head trying to explain it anyways.

Some things, he knew, were better to wait for an explanation that came with time, rather than trying to figure it out yourself.

Harry let his mind change the subject, and his thoughts turned to the escape plan he and the twins had concocted for later that night. He best distract his racing heart.

**_25 th December 1991 – The One-Eyed Witch Statue, Hogwarts_ **

“You ready?” George asked.

Fred, behind them, was checking the map. Harry had not asked and they had not told. He wasn’t ready for that conversation.

“I am.”

“Good,” Fred announced and tucked the ‘scrap of parchment’ into his pocket. “Now, if you go down this passageway, you’ll find yourself in the cellar of Honeydukes.”

“That’s a sweetshop in Hogsmeade, the fully magical village by Hogwarts.”

“You’ll find a floo in the back. If you’re quiet, the owners won’t know a thing, since they’re probably asleep by now.”

They had apparently forgotten that Harry had grown up in the muggle world. Ron had done the same, back when Harry first used the floo. It was just so normal and commonplace for them that they forgot. Harry didn’t bring attention to this, wanting to save time.

Harry nodded to show his understanding.

“Good lad,” George patted his pink hair. The twins, for some reason, adored his hair. Thought it was brilliant.

“If the passageway is closed by the time you get back, that means that we had to dash because we were about to get caught.”

“We’ll wait up for you. Don’t worry about rushing though, we’ve pulled all-nighters before-”

“Practically pros at it-”

“So don’t feel bad, Pinker,” they ended in unison.

Harry raised his hands in mock surrender, though he couldn’t hold back a grin. “Yes, sirs.”

They shooed him into the entrance. Once he was out of sight, Harry put on the Cloak and at a quick pace, jogged down the familiar passageway. After maybe half an hour, he was winded but he had reached the cellar of Honeydukes.

While using the floo wasn’t a bad idea, Harry didn’t want to risk it so he slipped out of the front door, walked a ways away and had Kreacher pop him to an alleyway in muggle London, just across the Leaky Cauldron.

Making his way through the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley seemed instantaneous, and soon enough, he stood at the entrance to Gringotts.

C’mon, Harry, what happened to all of those Gryffindor traits?

Harry took of his Cloak, tucked it into his pocket, and walked through the entrance.

The moment he stepped into the room that was devoid of any other humans (seeing as it was the middle of the night and on Christmas too, which was why he and the twins had chosen that day), the goblins all looked immediately at him. One at the very end of the room stood and gestured for Harry to follow.

Harry was rather confused about what was happening in the chaotic atmosphere as goblins began muttering to each other, though he thought he heard the phrases ‘time travel’ and ‘smells of death’, so he wasn’t feeling particularly safe at that moment.

He was led to what looked like a small conference room.

At the table in the centre sat the oldest goblin Harry had yet to see in either life, wearing much more exquisite clothing than the clerks or those that drive the carts. Next to this goblin sat another, clothing still more elaborate than the lower goblins but not as much as the elderly goblin at the centre.

“Mr Potter,” the elderly goblin said, once he had entered the room and sat down. “I am Ragnok, the Head of the Bank.”

Harry blinked. Head of the Bank? What had he done to deserve this? Did he piss off Death and Fate _that_ much? Why was he meeting with the Head of the Bank and this other goblin he didn’t recognise? He had heard the clerks mention time travel so maybe they knew that he broke into Gringotts in the future? Merlin, was he about to die?!

Still, Harry had been told by Neville in his past life that it would do well to be polite to the goblins, and that they had traditional greetings and farewells, so Harry bowed his head in respect and said, “I hope your enemies have been vanquished.”

The two goblins regarded him in surprise and respect. The Head of the Bank returned the greeting: “And I hope your coffers have filled with gold.”

The goblin that had yet to be introduced did so, “Well met, Mr Potter. I am Grimclaw, the Potter Vault Manager.”

Harry didn’t know that the Potters had a manager all to themselves.

“Do you mind explaining why you smell of death and time?” Grimclaw asked. Time had a smell?

While Harry _really_ didn’t want to tell them everything, especially when it came to breaking into Gringotts, Harry knew that he at least had to explain _some_ things or they’d never let him leave the bank or something just as drastic ( _death?_ ).

So Harry explained the bare essentials. He was from the future, having come back from 1998, and that he was able to do so because he was the Master of Death.

They looked rather impressed, probably because Harry _did not_ mention the break-in. He also didn’t mention the horcruxes, his plans to restore Tom’s soul, or his other plans, lest they try to stop him.

“Impressive, Mr Potter,” the Head of the Bank tilted his head in respect. They were looking at him in awe, probably because of the Master of Death nonsense. “Apologies for ushering you into this meeting. It was imperative that we discover why you felt so abnormal.”

Harry assured them that it was alright, and they asked him the for the reason he had come to the bank and that he would be given excellent service at a discount for the unexpected meeting.

“I came for quite a few things, sorry. First thing is an inheritance test, please.”

“Of course,” they said and a potion and a scroll of parchment was brought into the room and onto the table.

Harry was instructed in what to do. Namely, to prick his finger, allow exactly five drops of blood into the potion that glowed a bright gold once the blood fell in, and to take a step back. The clerk who brought in the items stirred the potion and then poured it slowly onto the parchment, which gleamed gold. The light eventually faded to reveal gold scratches on the parchment, which quickly formed into words.

**_ Inheritance Test _ **

**_Subject:_ ** _  
Harry James Potter_

**_Date of Birth:  
_ ** _31 st July 1980  
Age 11  
(Soul: Age 18)_

**_Parents:_ ** _  
James Fleamont Potter (deceased in 1981)  
Lily Evans Potter (deceased in 1981)_

**_Godparents:_ ** _  
Sirius Orion Black (incarcerated in 1981 – no trial)  
Alice Longbottom (driven to insanity in 1981)_

**_Lordships:_ ** _  
Unable to claim Lordships until age 15 or emancipation_

**_Heirships:_ ** _  
The Noble House of Potter  
The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_

**_Secondary Heirships:_ ** _  
The Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Slytherin (Heir: Tom Marvolo Riddle)  
The Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Peverell (Heir: Tom Marvolo Riddle)_

**_Other Titles:  
_ ** _The Boy-Who-Lived  
The Master of Death_

**_Prophecies:_ ** _  
One - Completed  
‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.  
Born to those who have thrice defied him,  
Born as the seventh month dies.  
And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal,  
But he will have power the Dark Lord know not.  
And either must die at the hand of the other  
For neither can live while the other survives.  
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord  
Will be born as the seventh month dies.’_

Both Harry and the goblins were gaping at the results of his inheritance, but for different reasons.

Harry was gaping at both the prophecy being ‘completed’ and potential proof that Sirius had never had a trial that could be used to free him. The goblins were gaping at all of the Lordships he had access to (it was unusual for someone to have more than one) and the prophecy itself, since they had not known of its existence.

The Head of the Bank finally shook himself out of his shock and he looked up at Harry. “Do you wish to bear the rings of the houses you hold an Heirship to?”

Noticing Harry’s confusion, the Potter Vault Manager told him, “Heir Rings often come with protection that has been added over many years, Heir Potter-Black. It is possible to make them only visible to people you desire, so you will be able to hide the fact that you have them as well.”

“Oh,” said Harry, as he struggled to put into order all of the information that was being thrown at him. “In that case, sure- I mean, yes please.”

The goblins sent out the clerk to get the Potter and Black Heir Rings, which only took a minute or two. Meanwhile, Ragnok and Grimclaw were explaining to him how he would only be able to become Lord Potter-Black and have access to the main vaults when he turned fifteen.

Normally, Heirs only gained the ability to become Lords at the age of seventeen, but since Harry was an orphan and the last of the Potter line, the age was moved forward slightly so that the estate would not remain stagnant as long. He could probably get it earlier if he played his cards right – being forced into a tournament for adults sounded a lot like emancipation to him.

Harry put on the two rings that the clerk brought into the room. Much like with the Deathly Hallows, a surge of delightful possessiveness filled him. Once again, here he had two objects that were _his_ , undoubtedly.

“What else did you come to do, Heir Potter-Black?”

Harry asked the goblins to set up a vault for Fred and George, and to put 1000 galleons into it, remembering that 1000 galleons was the amount he passed on last time. He gave them the parchment with Fred and George’s blood, which the goblins assessed and found that the twins had been willing. The goblins would be the ones to mail the twins the vault key and any information about its contents.

He also got his vault manager to invest in whatever he wanted, since Harry knew nothing about business or economics. Though, he did mention some companies that, from Hermione’s ramblings and his own knowledge, he knew did well in the future. Who cared that it was cheating when it made the goblins money, right?

“Is there anything else, Heir Potter-Black?” asked Ragnok.

Harry smirked. “Well, there is one more thing.”

**_27 th December 1991 – Great Hall, Hogwarts_ **

Harry was seated in the Great Hall, eating his breakfast so early in the morning that there were no other students and there was only one teacher in the room – Professor McGonagall.

He was tense as he absentmindedly chewed on some fruit. He had been anticipating a letter ever since the trip to Gringotts, which went very successfully. The weight of his rings, invisible, rested on his hand comfortingly and Fred and George were delighted when the vault key was delivered to them, though they insisted that Harry had given them way too much money.

Ah, finally!

Harry sat up, back ramrod straight, as a nondescript brown owl flew down and landed on his shoulder. Harry handed it some bacon, petted its head gently (all owls deserve love. He had been overwhelmed with emotion the first time he had seen Hedwig in this life), and untied the letter from the owl’s leg.

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_Gringotts has contacted me with the knowledge that you require help with a sensitive matter, and they believe me to be the best person for the job._

_My name is Rebecca Abbott, a lawyer employed by Gringotts. You probably know my niece, Hannah, as she is a Hufflepuff in your year._

_It would be a pleasure to work with you, Mr Potter, on whatever matter you require. Since it is so sensitive in nature (the goblins have not seen fit to tell me, they would rather you do so), I will give you a vow of my silence on the matter, so that I do not overreact or do something drastic._

_‘I, Rebecca Abbott, vow to not reveal any confidential information that Harry Potter may tell me about the matter he requires my help with as a lawyer. So mote be it.’_

_Now that that is dealt with, please send me what it is you need help with, any evidence or information you have for it, and how urgent it is._

_Rebecca Abbott  
Lawyer of Gringotts  
Daughter of the Noble House of Abbott_

Harry grinned as he read through the letter. A part of him _had_ been wondering what he would do if the lawyer he had asked the goblins to get for him ran away screaming when he told them what he wanted.

Harry whipped out some parchment and a quill and began scribbling a quick reply before anyone else woke up.

_Dear Lawyer Abbott,_

_It is a pleasure to meet you, and thank you for the vow of silence. It is particularly needed for this issue as the goblins were correct, it is incredibly sensitive in nature. I ask that you keep an open mind._

_I wish for you to get Sirius Black a trial._

_I know for a fact that not only did he_ never _receive a trial, he is also innocent of all that he has been accused of. The goblins can tell you that Peter Pettigrew is alive, since his will was never released and they do so automatically when one dies. There is no evidence that Sirius Black ever had a trial – because he never did._

_Search for a file of his trial and you won’t find one. Ask the goblins about Pettigrew being alive and they will support my statement. What they do not know is that Pettigrew is an unregistered Animagus, and has spent the past ten years hiding as a rat._

_I know where he is hiding. I can get him for you, when the time is right, so that he can be forced out of his Animagus form and be made to have a trial of some sort._

_I don’t know enough about the legal system to say if it will work or if it is likely, but if there is any way to free Sirius Black, I will take it. I abhor injustice. Imagine the outrage if it was discovered that an innocent man – and a Lord of such a powerful house at that – was sent to Azkaban._

_I would say that this matter is extremely urgent. I am sure that you agree._

_It will be a pleasure working with you, Lawyer Abbott. Thank you for hearing me out._

_Harry Potter_  
Heir of the Noble House of Potter  
Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black

Harry toyed for a moment the idea of not revealing to anyone his titles. He would certainly be holding back the knowledge of the Slytherin and Peverell lines from the public, but he didn’t see an issue with revealing his Heirship to the Black House. It just gives him a reason to want Sirius freed, and while he _hates_ fame or attention of any kind, the Black family held a lot of sway in the Wizarding World.

He grinned wickedly at his letter. This Rebecca Abbott would probably be horrified at the task he had given her, but since Sirius _was_ innocent, all anyone had to do was give him a trial, have him take some Veritaserum, and that’s that. He’s free! Easy, right?

Tying the letter to the owl’s leg, Harry stroked its head feathers and whispered to it, “Take this to Rebecca Abbott.”

He would see Sirius be freed if it was the last thing he did. There was no way that he was returning to the Dursleys come the Summer, and he felt terrible thinking about Sirius torturing himself in Azkaban.

Soon, he promised, soon, Sirius would be free, even if he had to break him out of Azkaban himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting, everyone. I've been busy writing my personal statement and applying to university lately, so writing hasn't been an immediate priority. Hopefully, I'll pick up writing soon. I hope everyone's doing well!


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